Dead Men Don't Bleed
by TweedleDuh
Summary: John Watson can't remember how he got out of the pool or why Sherlock Holmes' heart stopped beating. Set at the end of TGG
1. Chapter 1

A/N - Hey everyone! Its been a while. I've been away from writing for a while and sadly i know there are a few stories of mine that people out there really want me to finish. I am going to work on that i promise. But for now i had a little muse bug in my head for Sherlock! So i went with it.

No beta... enjoy

Steph

* * *

John Watson didn't consider himself an overly brave man. Sure he'd served for his country and took a bullet for his troubles but never did he think of himself as brave.

He did what he'd signed up and promised to do… fight… help… and even survive.

There were many other things he'd call himself… But not brave… no… not that. Never.

And as the ceiling came down around his head, blown free by a bomb that was once so very close to his heart, he knew for certain he was correct.

John Watson was scared shitless. Bravery had gone out the window.

His body had temporarily been frozen in a multitude of emotions. Fear… confusion… worry… sadness… helplessness.

He was a doctor. An ARMY doctor! But at that current moment he felt more helpless then he'd ever felt. This just wasn't right. He'd knocked them both into the water as the blast rumbled through the building. But what else? He couldn't remember… Why couldn't he remember!

And why were his eyes now locked on the unmoving body of Sherlock Holmes.

No… this just wasn't right at all.

Sherlock lay motionless a few feet from him, his body seemingly frozen stiff. John could see no rise and fall of his friend's chest. No twitch or movement as small chunks of ceiling dropped around him. His legs were still dangling over the edge of the pool but no water touched him. The blast had blown many gallons out and over the concrete sides and more seemed to be seeping out of holes John could not see.

He survived Afghanistan. He watched as his comrades died around him. His skills as a doctor had only gone so far out in the field without the proper equipment. But he kept going, knowing that others would need him.

Now Sherlock needed him and he couldn't move.

Fear had stalled him.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Doctor Watson pulled his sore limbs up and crawled slowly over to the body before him. Rubble crunched under his knees but the pain didn't register. He could only focus ahead of him. John reached the prone form and gazed down with wide eyes, searching for any movement, any sign. There was no blood, no hint as to what had been injured. John had no obvious clues as to why his friend lay so still.

Finally he placed his ear to the soggy chest and waited.

"No!" John's fingers reached down to pick up a cold wrist and searched for something… anything. But nothing thumped back. Just the fast beat of his own heart in his chest as he looked upon the cold, pale form of his flat mate.

No no no!"

Another crack and a loud splash. The place was coming down but John Watson stayed where he was. He stared unbelievingly in front of him.

What had happened? How'd he get himself and Sherlock out of the pool? He didn't remember a thing after he launched himself at the taller man, sending them sideways into the water. He must have blacked out from the waters impact. His head did feel a bit fuzzy. But… how? How were they both across the pool… both out of the water?

Why was Sherlock's heart not beating?

John wedged his fingers under the wet black curls, still searching for any reason… a cause for Sherlock's silence. No blood… nothing amiss. No obvious sign to indicate a cracked skull. So why wasn't he breathing?

No! This couldn't happen! He wouldn't let it! He COULDN'T let it! Sherlock was a force to be reckoned with. His absolutely brilliant mind needs to be in motion to help save more lives, to solve crimes, to deduce.

To help John function.

John put his own body to work, placing his hands on the still chest. He pushed and pumped madly, willing the muscle inside the cold frame under his fingers to sputter back to life. He was buried so deeply in his task that he missed the heavy running footsteps come up behind him. Missed them stop and pause, taking in the scene. He didn't miss, however, the strong hands grabbing his shoulders. They started to pull him back.

"Stop!"

Did that come from his own mouth? Or the person who owned the hands… He couldn't tell…

"John Stop! He's gone… We've got to get out of here!"

Lestrade. John ignored the words and pulling hands. His arms still pumped up and down on the wet chest below him.

"John…. JOHN!" Suddenly strong hands were on his, stopping his movements. John looked up, something liquid dripping from his eyes as he did so. He noticed Lestrade balk at what he saw in his eyes. Suddenly the other man's voice became gentler. "We'll take him with us John. We'll get him out of here."

John Watson looked down slowly at the pale form. He was gone… Sherlock Holmes was gone. Nothing was right… wrong… All wrong. Lestrade was right. They had to get out of the destroyed building.

Then slowly John nodded and pulled his numb legs underneath himself. They both took an arm, slinging it over their shoulders. John tried to ignore the dead weight as Sherlock's head lulled forward onto his still chest. He barely withheld the sob escaping up his throat as Lestrade started the charge toward the gapping hall where the door used to be. All three escaped from the crumbling building… but John Watson knew one soul had been left behind. And he couldn't go back in and get it.

* * *

More to come... Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Hey Everyone… Thank you for the interest in this! Just a gnawing thing in my brain! I apologize that this isn't longer. I anticipated having a nice long chunky chapter but there's a part I'm not happy with so I figured, instead of making you all wait till I figure out what I want, I'd get this up.

By the way… My fic is written as a friendship fic in my mind. But if you want to see it another way then I suppose that's fine too.

Thanks! Here ya go!

* * *

Numb…

That's all he could feel. It coated his whole body from the inside out.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since they made it out of the building. He also had no clue what time it was when the building suddenly imploded on itself. John was too busy cradling his friends' head in his lap, waiting on an ambulance… and then, surely, the coroner.

He didn't even think to care as the scene started to buzz around him. He ignored the shocked and pitiful looks from Donovan and Anderson as they arrived to the scene. He watched with dull eyes as Lestrade intercepted them and told them the news. John could see their eyes widen and knew then that the Inspector had dropped the bomb, no pun intended. He saw Sally's mouth utter an obscenity before looking back over at the pair.

But John didn't care… He didn't care what they thought or how they were feeling. He didn't have it in him to feel for himself… let alone give a crap about someone else's.

The Ambulance had arrived but did not engage. There was nothing they could do. No one had approached him and his flat mate for some time. He couldn't help to think that they were weary of Sherlock even in death. It couldn't have been him they balked at. No… not Timid-As-A-Mouse John Watson. He knew the sight must have been unnatural and too shocking to accept. Sherlock Holmes spayed on the cold pavement, eyes closed, unmoving and limp in John Watson's lap… a sight no one thought they'd witness.

Finally, a shadow loomed closer; taking slow and steady steps in their direction.

Mycroft.

The older Holmes's face showed no emotion as usual but his eyes didn't leave his brothers body. John couldn't read him. He didn't do that very well anyways. That was Sherlock's forte.

Mycroft had broken his stare at his deceased brother and looked at John, taking in the ex-soldiers obvious distress. He, like his brother, could keep his thoughts logical. He couldn't help his brother now, but he could help John.

No one had ever been this close to his brother. There had been a bond from the very beginning that kept Mycroft up at night at times trying to understand. Sherlock didn't have friends. He had acquaintances sure, but no one had ever accepted his brother as John Watson had. They both fed off of each other, grounded one another. Mycroft was thankful for John's influence on his impulsive and reckless younger sibling. Even as he lay cold and dead, John still clung to him, protecting him from any more harm. Keeping his friends dignity by holding his head from the unforgiving ground.

Mycroft shook himself from his thoughts and motioned with one finger and a wave of his arm. That small movement had set things in motion. People started to come in their direction and John blinked in annoyance, pulling Sherlock's still shoulders closer.

Crouching down, Mycroft laid a hand on John's shoulder. Red sad eyes looked lazily up at the older Holmes.

"You can stand down now John… He's safe now."

John blinked heavily and looked back down at his pale, still friend. It was several seconds before he released his hold, signaling the workers that came at Mycroft's call to take Sherlock from him.

John watched from his knelt position as they lifted Sherlock onto a gurney, laying him on top of a black material. They checked for a pulse once more before nodding to one another and John looked sharply to the ground as they began to pull the black corners up and over Sherlock. The only thing John registered was the noise of the zipper coming up slowly, making his friend disappear.

It was then that he noticed the hand still on his shoulder as it gripped him tighter. Mycroft had not turned away and his pain and sadness echoed through his touch. John didn't bother looking up. He was sure the older Holmes' face showed no sign of grief. His on the other hand was a tragic novel.

Before John knew what was going on, Mycroft was helping him to his feet and ushering him gently in the direction of his long black car. The door was opened for him and he slid into the leather seats, allowing his body to melt down into a boneless mass. The car had started moving but John stared out at nothing. He didn't care about his destination. He just couldn't seem to care about anything.

They took a few turns, stopped at some red lights and dodged traffic but the two men in the back seat said nothing. They didn't even acknowledge each other's presence until finally the door opened and the light from St. Barts filled the once dark car. John hadn't even noticed that they'd stopped and certainly didn't expect to be at the hospital. He wasn't sure what he wanted or where he wanted to be at that moment but he was sure he DIDN'T want to be at St. Barts. He'd have much rather preferred to disappear then be illuminated by the glow of the hospital sign.

John's door opened and he didn't know where the strength came from as his legs moved and he pulled himself out.

Mycroft didn't say a word but walked ahead of John into the doors and down the hallways. Finally they stopped at a desk and John forced his ears to pay attention.

"My friend here needs assistance. I believe you've been called."

John looked from Mycroft to the young nurse behind the desk. She nodded nervously and hit the intercom, speaking into it quickly. She'd obviously received the memo.

"I don't need assistance." John's face was still as blank as new paper but his tone deepened slightly. Did Mycroft realize that he didn't hurt? He couldn't feel anything let alone an injury. It didn't matter anymore. He didn't matter anymore.

"You need to be checked John. You were in the blast too. You may be a doctor but right now you can't take care of yourself properly."

"I … cant…?"

"You may not feel anything now but later on you'll thank me."

John rolled his eyes in annoyance and didn't try in the least to hide it. Damn it you Holmes's! He didn't understand how easy it was for them to get into his head.

"You know I'm right." And that was that. The 'last word' in all its glory.

So very 'Sherlock'…

"Fine…" It was no use to argue. The faster he accepted he'd have to be looked at then the faster he could disappear.

"It will be quick I promise. I will wait for you... and then we'll go to the morgue."

John stalled at Mycroft's words. It was the first time tonight the man had lost a beat and reveal a chink in his armor. He hadn't tried to hide it from John either. That was not normal Mycroft behavior.

"Ok…"

Mycroft nodded and both men looked up as a short man in a white doctors coat walked up to them, introduced himself as Doctor Reeves, and motioned John to the closest curtain.

The tiny doctor was quick but thorough enough. John had some bruises and would hurt more in the morning once everything stiffened. He'd known that well enough on his own. He was sent on his way twenty minutes later with a script for a pain reliever, a belly full of Motrin and a sad smile from Dr. Reeves. John was still walking in a daze as he rounded the curtain and almost ran into Mycroft. The older Holmes actually did wait for him.

"Are you ready John?"

The doctor nodded but it was a lie. There was no way in hell that he'd be ready for this

* * *

The door to the lab was open and waiting for them when they arrived. John followed Mycroft in and winced slightly as he was hit with the strong smells inside. He may have been a doctor but that didn't mean it didn't turn his stomach upside down whenever he'd encountered it. Mainly Formaldehyde.

Sherlock had been lain out on a metal table. His clothes were gone and a crisp white sheet covered the thin frame up to just below the shoulders. The paleness of his skin made the sheet appear a darker shade of white but his dark curls caused everything lighter to be whitened out. It hurt John's eyes to look.

John's gaze immediately set on a ragged red line down his flat mates left cheek. A part deep inside of him briefly woke up… the part that would throw himself into caring doctor mode and reach for the nearest first aid kit. But he stifled it quickly. It didn't matter now. The cut didn't need to be cleaned. It wasn't going to get infected… it wasn't going to heal… it didn't matter anymore.

Mycroft walked slowly around the table, taking in his brother's stillness. The look in his eyes made it seem like this was the first time he'd seen him since the explosion. The man may have tried his damndest all night to put on a strong front and build his walls up for protection. But right at that moment, as he watched him stare down at his dead little brother, John could see the walls fall down in a giant collapse.

John knew as a man of great power that this moment was as uncommon as a full moon on the 29th of February and he turned his gaze away from Mycroft to the other person in the room to give him privacy.

"Who are you?" John didn't recognize the red headed man in the white lab coat. Where was Molly?

"Names Jerry…" The younger man held a hand out to shake John's; only the Ex-Soldier didn't offer his. Jerry looked someone dejected but put his hand back down slowly and smiled gently anyways. "I work the graveyard shift… um.. pardon the pun there. Sorry."

John ignored his sorry excuse for a mood lightener "I've never seen you here before. Where's Molly?"

Jerry was about to respond when Mycroft placed a gentle hand on the doctor's shoulder. "John… Ms. Molly left shortly after they brought my brother in. She couldn't seem to handle herself enough to assist tonight. I saw to it that she got home safely."

"Oh…" Poor Molly… her feelings for Sherlock certainly wouldn't have made seeing him like this easy. He never did understand how she worked in the morgue. Her disposition was better suited for the living.

"She was surely enamored with my brother."

John nodded absently mindedly as he glanced back over at the silenced form. "Understatement… but better this way. She has been through enough. Does she know…?"

"That her boyfriend was really the bomber and conspired to kill you both? Yes…" Mycroft cut in. "She knows everything."

"Oh…" Again... poor Molly. John closed his eyes to everything. He didn't want to see Sherlock, he didn't want to think of Molly or picture her tears. And he really REALLY didn't want to be here right now. Suddenly his equilibrium faltered and he swayed slightly on his feet. His eyes snapped open to regain himself and caught Mycroft eyeing him sideways.

"I expect a full report tomorrow… Jerry…"

"Williams…. Jerry Williams." The red head had taken a step forward slightly; clearly excited to be acknowledged but Mycroft kept a smug look on his face and ignored the other mans eagerness.

"Right… Jerry Williams. Be thorough and I want to know the COD as soon as its determined." Mycroft had begun to make his way toward the lab doors and John had moved his tired legs to follow when suddenly they both came to an abrupt stop at Jerry's next words.

"Sure… I can already tell you the cause of death."

Mycroft's eyebrows rose slightly as he turned back in the direction of the other man.

"Well…" John almost wanted to smile as Sherlock once again had shown through in his brother's tone of voice.

"Compression. His insides were crushed. X-Ray's show bone fragments punctured the heart. If it helps… I believe it was quick."

John couldn't take any more and abruptly stumbled backwards, grasping the closest empty table for support. He'd heard enough, felt enough, seen enough. He needed out.

"John… I think its time we got you home."

All John could do was nod.

He had nothing else to give…

And as John began to follow Mycroft once more down the empty hallways, a hitch caught in his step and a slight limp returned.

* * *

John's steps were heavy, his weary body dragging from overuse… physically and emotionally. The aches and pains from the night's events were starting to sink in. He'd been given some ibuprofen at the hospital but it had been a few hours now and its helpfulness was dwindling.

He didn't want to look at anything in the flat. Everything would remind him of what he'd just lost. A comrade… a friend… a lifeline. But with the help of the dull morning light seeping through the open curtains, John made out the skull on the mantle, the laptop resting on the side table where John had last seen him sitting watching crap telly. Damn it… he should have known something was up right then. Sherlock didn't watch those things, had no interest, thought it to be dull and a sorry excuse for his time. And then there was his offer to go shopping.

John sighed loudly and let himself collapse onto the sofa. He put his elbows on his knees as he pushed the palms of his hands into his aching eyes. He'd been a fool not to notice these small differences.

Maybe if John had called him on it he'd have told him everything.

But… then again… this WAS Sherlock Holmes he was talking about.

Sherlock didn't want to include him in this. And instead of John feeling bad about being left out of an important meeting with Moriarty, which had backfired on Sherlock anyways, he was grateful. Sherlock didn't want him put in harms way because of the "Game" he and that psychopath were playing at.

He'd become an unwilling participant anyways.

"Knock knock!"

John winced openly and worked on pulling his weary body off of the couch cushions.

He'd forgotten about Mrs. Hudson…

The little old landlady bounced into the room with an energy he wasn't sure was natural for someone her age and John tried to stifle the groan coming up his throat. He didn't know if he could do this… Why did it have to be him?

"Morning John. Late night again I take it?" The older lady scampered into the kitchen and dropped a paper bag she had been holding onto the cluttered kitchen table. "I don't care much for you and Sherlock scamping about in dark alleys at night but when you go out could you please turn off the telly? Kept me up for hours. I came up and turned I off about 3:30. I swear that boy would forget his head when he's into one of his cases.

"Mrs. Hudson… I'm sorry… I…" John had tried to cut into the woman's ramblings but apparently his intrusion wasn't strong enough.

"No no dear… its alright… Its not like I have to head to work this morning. I hope you don't have work today dear. I see a nap in your future." Mrs. Hudson finished putting the stuff in the bags away as best she could and finally walked over to John. The doctor had his hand on the mantle, desperately trying to gain some strength from the old wood and metal.

"Mrs. Hudson… I have to tell you…"

"Maybe you should call in today. You look a bit peaky. I'm sure Sarah would understand. Such a sweet woman John… I like her."

John sighed and shook his head slightly. Sarah… damn it he'd have to call Sarah to explain why he'd never made it over. But right now that was the least of his troubles.

"Ma'am…"

"Where's Sherlock dear?" Mrs. Hudson stepped away from John and went to the side table to tidy up some newspapers. She always reminded them that she was not their housekeeper… but she was a mother and some actions she could not help. "Did he solve whatever case you were both working on? He's so smart… I'm sure he did. Such a clever boy… When he gets back I'll bring you boys up some tea. You look wiped."

John squeezed his eyes shut from the sight of Mrs. Hudson unconsciously cleaning up their flat and gripped the mantle tighter. Why was this so hard to get out? There is never a good time for this news but this lively little old lady was giving John a rather good fight… and she didn't even know it.

"Mrs. Hudson… Sherlock's not coming back."

The old woman stopped her actions at John's words. She'd looked deep in thought for a moment before shifting back into gear… only this time a bit nervously as her ramblings became a bit more high pitched.

"Well then later on. I'll bring him up a Tea… but you young man should be in bed. You look awful." Mrs. Hudson finally turned in John's direction and froze at the sad gaze the doctor returned.

"No… John… Don't say it? Please don't say anything." Mrs. Hudson wasn't a stupid woman but she had no problems sharing her emotions with the world as John witnessed tears fill her eyes. John stared at the liquid longer then he should have. He'd been around people the last few hours that didn't show such raw emotion. He was actually comforted in knowing that it was still possible.

"I'm… so sorry. Sherlock… He… umm…." John stopped, trying to collect his thoughts and felt a trembling hand cling onto his forearm. It gave him a moment of strength to continue. "There was an explosion and… he didn't…"

John's words faded and he looked down to the floor, unable to look at the woman's emotions dance on her face any longer. Her fingers gripped his sweater tighter and then suddenly let go. John's eyes popped up to make sure she was ok but she was already turning in the direction of the doorway.

John let her go. He understood needing time to wrap around the news. He'd check on her a bit later. He knew Sherlock was like another son to the old woman. She always treated him as such and he'd let her.

John ran a hand over his face and squinted as he turned toward the ever-growing morning sun through the window panes.

Screw the sun… he didn't want it. He didn't need it anymore. With hard steps and vicious tugs, John closed the curtains tight, shutting out the daylight… and the world.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey everyone! Thank you for the interest again! I know some are hesitant about Sherlock being... dead... but just stay tuned!

Also i'm sorry for the gap in between updates. Its christmas time and i'm pretty into it haha! So every day has been a crazy day!

The next chapter should be up soon! Possibly sunday. Happy Holidays and i hope you enjoy!

Steph

* * *

The next day was a bit of a blur. After pulling himself out of bed about midday, John busied himself with picking up around the flat. He numbly placed things back in their true spots and ignored the ownership of each item. Right now it didn't matter which things were Sherlock's. He certainly wouldn't be packing his stuff up. That would make things final and John would put his foot down in that area. Mycroft could get his people over when he wasn't around.

John, ate, showered and even went into the clinic for work for a couple hours. He'd called Sarah later on the night before when he had emerged from his dark bedroom to explain what happened and why he'd been MIA for the last 24 hours. Sarah had been truly shocked when John told her the news. She couldn't believe it either. Sherlock Holmes being dead was just… so… wrong.

That seemed to be the only word John Watson could come up with first when he thought of it all. Everything just seemed wrong, backwards… dreamlike. Life was rapidly backsliding to the recent days after he returned from Afghanistan. He hated the feeling it gave him. The sense of uselessness… that he was defective without a purpose. Sherlock had given him a purpose and the exhilarating mix of danger and spontaneity. A sure reason to go on.

Now he found himself numbly walking down Baker St. to his empty flat, a bowl of cereal and bed. Sarah refused to let him stay longer then a few hours and he felt it was just as well. He didn't feel he was helping anyone. He'd barely heard the last patient as she tried to describe how she'd burned her finger. Something about cookies and the holidays and he couldn't wait to give her some cream for it and send her on her way.

The Holidays… great. He certainly didn't feel up to the madness of the Christmas season. It had snuck up quickly. Maybe it was because he hadn't thought of such things wrapped up in Moriarty's game and running the streets of London. The last thing he wanted to think about was Christmas.

He supposed he'd go visit his sister and try to get away from things for a while. Harry wouldn't understand what was going on though and her persistent questioning may prove a problem. He'd have to see. Christmas was still two weeks away.

John made it back to the flat at a snails pace, his slight limp had returned without his acknowledgment. He didn't care. It didn't matter now did it? He wasn't doing any chasing or getting chased. So what if he limped. Screw everyone.

A bright lamplight caught his eyes as he pulled himself up to the doorway and searched in his coat for the key.

Mrs. Hudson had kept her distance the last couple of days. He knew she was dealing with the loss in her own way and John didn't have a clue what to say to try and help. So he said nothing.

It didn't stop the older lady however from delivering a cup of Tea while John was in the shower, its warm steam waiting for him as he relaxed in the arm chair and read till he fell asleep.

But tonight was different. John could already tell as the light from the lamp filtered through the stairway as he pulled open the door.

Mrs. Hudson had sat waiting on a step for John to come home.

"John…" She greeted him with a gentle nod and watched as the doctor closed the door and did the locks before turning back around with confusion written all over his face.

Mrs. Hudson's… are you…. Alright?"

It was an odd sort of thing… coming in the door and having someone sitting there staring back at him. But it was even more odd that it was a serious looking and fidgeting Mrs. Hudson who normally was as bubbly and bouncy as any teenager. Now her brief but lingering and eerie silence started to make him feel like he'd stepped into a physiological thriller and he was about to be tested.

It was almost kind of laughable at how close to the truth he was.

Mrs. Hudson sighed deeply and ruffled a handkerchief in between her thin fingers. She didn't look up at John. She kept her gaze on her nervous hands as she spoke. "He didn't have to stay here you know."

The silence returned for a moment and now was the time for the older lady to slowly look up at the doctor. She was hoping she wouldn't have to repeat herself. Approaching the subject had been hard enough on her nerves as it was. But as she locked eyes with John Watson, he clearly heard her… he clearly understood. It didn't stop him though from cocking his head slightly to the left in mock confusion.

"I'm sorry?"

The old woman ran a cool hand over tired eyes. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Sherlock had money. He didn't have to stay here in this old flat. But he'd found out I was a little over my cup in bills and I just couldn't rent this place out. He came to stay here to help me. But he'd never admit it John… never. He'd always say it was because he needed to get away from his brother or that he liked this side of town. No one likes this side of town."

John was a bit surprised. He had no doubt that what Mrs. Hudson said was truth. Sherlock didn't need to stay there. He could have stayed anywhere. It was a humane act… a kind act. And in his typical 'Sherlock' way he chalked it up to the neighborhood or other reasons as to why he needed the flat. John blinked a long blink, almost not wanting to open his eyes and continue on with this topic. It was clear neither of them has been interested in having this conversation. But what hurt the most was the small realizations at every step of how human Sherlock actually was. In his own way. It just seemed you had to squint real hard to see it.

"I never understood why he needed a flat mate." Mrs. Hudson continued on and John opened his eyes only in respect for the woman. "He didn't need help paying the rent."

John sighed and looked gently at the old lady. She reached to her side and picked up a cup from the stair she sat on. She slowly sipped her tea quietly, staring at nothing as she thought. As the information sunk in, the questions began. Why indeed? Why did Sherlock need a flat mate? Certainly something he'd never find out now. He could make guesses all he wanted. Had Sherlock really been that lonely? Or bored? Was it a cover so Mrs. Hudson didn't realize he didn't actually need the flat?

"John… I know we haven't been talking. I know neither of us know the right thing to say… or anything at all…. But it means a lot to me that you are here. I hope you stay."

"Mrs. Hudson… Have you been worrying about that?"

The small woman on the step in front of him just gave him a quick sad smile and looked back down to her tea. John knew then that he had his answer.

"I'm not certain I'll be able to handle the rent by myself ma'am… but I don't want to be any where else. For now I'm staying."

The woman finally let her shoulders slump as an invisible weight had been lifted free of them and a genuine smile returned to her lips.

"Ok… I can accept that. We'll work something out eh?"

John couldn't help but smile as well from the returning energy in Mrs. Hudson's voice. "Of course"

"Wonderful John… Simply wonderful. Thank you." She gathered up her tea and handkerchief, ready to pull herself from the step when the smile suddenly left her face and she looked back at John again.

"Oh…. And I also wanted to tell you… my sister has been ill for some time…"

"I'm so sorry…"

"Thank you dear… but its nothing new. I haven't been able to see her recently. Been busy you know… and… well she's been pretty weary as of late. I've made plans to go see her. I am set to leave the day after tomorrow." She paused for a moment, hesitant that her next sentence was even required. "I didn't want to miss the funeral after all."

"Of course." John's body had shivered inwardly at the word but he didn't want Mrs. Hudson to see.

"Will you accompany me to the service?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way." He smiled warmly at her as a comfort when inside he knew he was turning into a pretty swell actor.

"Good…" The older lady finally showed her age as she pulled herself to her feet and started up the stairs. "Good night John… I left you some Tea… you know where."

"Thank you…"

"Tut… no thanks needed."

And then she was gone in a flash behind her door, eager to escape the awkwardness of their conversation but glad nonetheless that it was over.

John waited till her heard the last lock latch on the old wood before proceeding slowly up to his empty flat, cooling tea and a restless nights sleep.

* * *

John stood alone in the bitter cold. The wind had died down but the ex-solider could feel the oncoming moisture in the air. He felt it right down to the marrow of his bones. But he didn't move. His place was right here.

He'd escorted Mrs. Hudson to the nearest folding chair set out encircling the casket but stayed standing, looking much like he had when he first enlisted. His body was stiff with nerves and the uncomfortable atmosphere but he'd stayed still as stone through the small service. Sherlock had not been a religious man. He was a man of science and saw no reason or need of faith. So Mycroft had settled on a small gathering at the gravesite, a few words said and a solemn send off.

It had ended quickly and now he stood, chilled and uncomfortable. His fingers were in his dress coat pockets, clenching and un clenching to keep warm as he watched the casket in front of him. It slid slowly down into the cold earth, taking any hope John Watson had left in him with it.

He had realized that he did not stand completely alone. As he stood watch, another did as well. But not for Sherlock Holmes. Not for the most brilliant and unique person John had ever met to be lowered into the ground. Not the person who seemed to know him better then anyone else. Not for the man who helped him overcome his psychosomatic limp, bringing him back on life's track. No… this man was keeping watch for John. And even though he felt he should do this alone it did help a bit that there was still someone who cared enough about him to make sure he got home ok.

Mycroft and his family had long since left. They had been the first to walk away and with good reason. John didn't know that Sherlock was an uncle. He honestly couldn't picture him interacting with children of any age. But he must have, for the young boy and girl that stood with their father had cried openly at the loss of their uncle. And as soon as things were complete, Mycroft has ushered the youngsters into that large black car and pulled away slowly.

There really were a lot of things he hadn't known about his flat mate.

He didn't know how Mycroft did it. His brother was dead. One of the few things the man fought to protect. He certainly had his own way of showing caring and love. His way was to bribe John into keeping watch over his brother.

Such a strange family.

But today he saw the human side as tears fell from Mycroft's eyes and soaked the suit coat he wore. He watched him place gentle hands on the young children standing before him and lower his head to whisper comforting words.

Well… maybe not as strange as he'd thought.

A 'thunk' sound shook John from his thoughts. The Casket was now in and the grounds men of the graveyard were now starting the final stages of the burial. John took a shuddering breath and released it slowly as he brought his head down to his chest in defeat.

He was no longer needed now. It was over.

He supposed it was time to acknowledge the man standing behind him.

"You didn't have to stay here."

"I know…"

John paused to collect himself before turning around to look at DI Lestrade.

"Mrs. Hudson…?"

"I had Donovan bring her back home."

John nodded. "Thanks."

"John you don't have to thank anyone. That's what friends do."

"Friends." John whispered. He was starting to hate the word. It seemed his biggest mistake in life was making friends. He'd lost so many of them at war and any that he'd had before he left for Afghanistan couldn't seem to understand him anymore. And now… he'd just lost another one. One that seemed to get him more then anyone else in the world… even himself.

"Things are just… wrong."

"I know… but they get right again."

John actually laughed. "That's a load of bullshit. Nothing ever gets right again. You just try to move on from that and wait for that next thing to go wrong too."

"John…"

"Never mind… I… I don't want to talk anymore." John's shoulders slumped and he took one last look over his shoulder. The men were now going for the shovels and he looked away as quickly as he could.

"Ok… I understand. " Lestrade stepped aside and gestured his hand gently towards the last car waiting on the gravel road. "Home?"

"Thanks."

John didn't look back over at the grave again as Lestrade put the car in drive and drove them slowly away from Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

Lestrade drove in silence and John appreciated it more then he could ever say. His mind was buzzing but he couldn't stick to one thought. All he knew was that he wasn't ready to go back to the flat and the anxiousness of that strong feeling had John grumble a "Pull Over" two blocks from Baker St.

"We're almost there John…"

"Yea… well I want to walk."

"But its freezing and the dress coat you have isn't warm enough…."

"I have to go to the store."

"Well please… let me drop you off there. I can wait. Its no prob…"

"No no…." John interrupted. It's fine its just down the block. I want to walk."

John turned his head finally to look at the DI, hoping the emotions would hide out for a moment.

"Ok…. Ok… yea..." Lestrade pulled the car to the curb and threw it in park. "I suppose you should anyways. That whole superstition about stopping somewhere else after a funeral…"

"Yea whatever… Thanks." John knew the man was trying to ease the moment but all the doctor could concentrate on was getting out of the car. His hand grasped the door handle and whipped it open in one smooth swift motion, throwing his legs out and pulling himself up onto the curb.

"John… If you need anything ple…."

"I will… I'll call… Thanks"

And with that, he turned on his heels and limped himself down the side street in the direction of the small family owned grocery store down the block. It wasn't a major escape but one his body was beginning to appreciate as the anxiety started to lift and the walking movement helped his panic.

John had lingered in the store for a good solid hour, going up and down the isles more then a few times and picking up random things he didn't need just to look normal. Really all he wanted was for his body to relax and for the fear of loneliness and uselessness to subside.

He'd eventually drifted up to the counter with only 12 items and tried to ignore the curious stare of the older fellow behind the counter.

He limped slowly down the two blocks to Baker St. and cursed out loud when he found Lestrade parked in front of his building, leaning on the door with his arms crossed waiting for John.

"Need help?"

"I can manage well enough."

"Ok…" Lestrade watched John put the key in the door, hands in his pockets waiting for his words to come to his lips. He was never good at this part of the job. "H… how are you doing?"

John shoved the key back in his pants pocket and leaned down stiffly to gather up a few parcels. "Just dandy. Thanks for asking."

"I'm serious John. I am concerned and I just want to make sure you are going to be ok…"

John turned his head to the detective inspector and let out a deep exhale of air that cut through the cold night. "Like I said, I'm managing."

"John… I'm so sorry. I know you two were friends…"

"Colleagues", but he knew, as the word left his mouth, that it wasn't true. They'd become more then that. His thoughts briefly filtered back to the look on Sherlock's face after he'd ripped the bomb jacked off his shoulders. It was concern. He'd known right there that he'd also felt the same. They were friends… they understood one another. Sherlock Holmes had shown his hand… his secret of a beating caring heart in his final moments.

"Right… well you were close. So… my condolences. He was an amazing talent. We will all miss him."

"I'm sure Donovan and Anderson are lighting a candle as we speak"

Lestrade tried hard not to roll his eyes at the childish reaction. "Its true they didn't like him much… but it was most likely because he called them out on themselves. They'll miss him… later."

"Sure…"

"Well I guess I'll let you get back to your groceries. If there's anything you need I'm just a phone call away."

"Thanks."

John shuffled into the hallway and kicked the door shut behind him with his foot. He stood there for a few minutes clearly fuming. He had to take some deep breaths to try and think clearly. Lestrade showing up unannounced didn't bother him but the way he looked at him did. Was it pity he saw in the man's eyes? Why would anyone pity John Watson? Who was he?

Sherlock had a family he left behind. Why didn't the detective inspector show up on Mycroft's front stoop and deliver his condolences?

Oh right… To him… John was Sherlock's family.

A cold shudder rippled through his aching bones and the doctor huffed as his final thought on the matter… for now.

He gripped his grocery bags tighter and hoofed it up to his flat.

John made it 4 steps from the doorway when a glimpse of something on the floor ahead stopped him cold.

A leg.

A well-dressed leg with an expensive looking pair of dress shoes attached…


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry this is short... i had to cut it though and this was the best spot! don't hate me! More will be up this week! Thanks again everyone for reading and reviewing!

* * *

John Watson blinked his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Normally they'd always left the flat door unlocked. The front door was always bolted as per Mrs. Hudson's orders but apparently that wasn't safe enough. Someone had obviously gotten in. John paused a long moment to make sure the leg on the floor wasn't moving and to check for the sound of other movement before continuing his assent up the wooden stairs.

John's eyes traveled slowly up from the pants to the finely tailored suit jacket as he took slow meaningful steps up the stairs. Once he reached the landing, his gaze went farther up to the ashen features and finally stopped on the disheveled mop of dark curls scattered about the pale face and dark wood floor.

"Sherlock…" John's voice was just above a whisper as the name slid off his dry tongue with a breath. He could only stand there for a moment, taking in the sight before him… groceries long forgotten on the landing. His friend was lying on the floor, his legs straight but slightly parted, his left arm by his side while his right arm rested limply over his stomach. His head faced straight up, eyes closed, no movement…. Nothing…

So many questions littered John's brain at a speed he couldn't keep up with. He'd just watched Sherlock being lowered into the cold ground almost two hours ago and now he was lying on the floor in their flat, looking nothing more then sleeping deeply.

John lowered himself to his knees along side his still friend. He didn't even remember walking the distance from the door to him. His mind was on overdrive. What was this game? It could only be Moriarty. What other person in Sherlock's past would give him enough of their time and effort after death? Only someone with sick and twisted intentions.

Sherlock was dead. What more could this man possibly get out of digging him up and bringing him back to Baker St.?

John was only a piece in the game… not a player.

John rubbed a hand over his tired face and sat back on his knees. He took in the man lying in front of him. His friend, colleague and flat mate… and for a brief moment Dr. John Watson, Ex-army medic and soldier, had no idea what to do. Life could be absolutely simple. The mission could always be straightforward. And when things get tough or unexpected you relied on your experience and knowledge to decide your next course of action.

But what was he suppose to do about this?

His dead friend, who they'd just buried, was now lying in front of him. How would he explain this? How would he make this better? HOW did Sherlock even GET here?

"Its all so confusing isn't it Dr. Watson?"

John jumped to his feet in surprise, silently berating himself for not noticing someone else in the flat. Some Solider he was.

"Don't be miffed that I snuck up on you Johnny. I'm that good."

"Right…" John watched Jim Moriarty like a hawk as he walked over from the window to the arm of the sofa and perched himself on it. The man was well dressed as usual, showing no sign that he was recently in an explosion. The same maniacal smile from the other night graced his lips. It made John's blood boil. He would make sure he was between him and his friend's body. It's all he could do.

"Well? No thank you?"

"For what…" John couldn't hide his hateful glare. He shouldn't have let his emotions puncture through his composure but… well he just couldn't help it.

"For returning your friend?" The mad man gestured to Sherlock's body.

"You're a sick bastard! All you did was desecrate a grave. You've already won… what more can you do to him now?"

"Oh sooo much more John. So much more… did you look at him John? Did you take a good look?"

John refused to turn away from the psycho in front of him to play into his game. "I looked at him… he's dead because of you. Couldn't you have had some respect for once?"

"Hey now… I didn't shoot the bomb did I? No no nooo… and I respect Sherlock Holmes… I respect what he does. I just don't want him in my business when I don't want him to be. I felt he needed a message that read loud and clear."

"Well I think you were crystal." John's hand swept behind him self to Sherlock.

"Oh my dear Watson. I don't think you understand me. I wonder how Holmes can tolerate your slowness."

John's eyes squinted at him… he didn't know what this psycho was getting at but he was pretty sure he'd lost his patience a long time ago.

"Oh COME ON John! You're a Doctor right? Take a LOOK at him! How long have you believed him to be dead? Four full days? Tell me if you see any signs that prove that fact. Prove to me you're worth keeping around for cryin' out loud!"

John eyed the man suspiciously for a moment while backing up enough to look at Sherlock and keep Moriarty in his side vision. He let his eyes roam over his friend's body. This was a visual test. He couldn't cheat by touching. Mentally he let his education kick in while scanning the body. The arms and legs were loose. Normal after several days. The chest did not move. No intake of breath, no movement from the neck… no pulse. Finally he brought his eyes to Sherlock's face. A pang of grief stabbed him in the heart again but he pushed it aside as best he could and studied the cold pale features below him. After this amount of time the face would sink in. Problem with that though… Sherlock was so thin and his facial features were sharp. He couldn't rely on that. What was he suppose to be seeing?

Then suddenly his eyes widened. He took a step closer to make sure before turning back to Moriarty.

"How?"

Moriarty just grinned and stood from the arm of the chair.

"Damn it! How? HOW?"

"My Darling John… That's for you to find out. I can't give you ALL the answers now can I? What would be the challenge in that? I know this is quite… Shocking… and your heart must be racing… " Moriarty stopped and leaned in with a whisper… "It's the adrenalin you see…"

"You son of a bitch…" John seethed and stepped back away from Moriarty.

"Now now John… be nice… after all I've done!"

"How are you doing this? Why?" John wanted to grab the man by the collar and shake him.

"I can't divulge my secrets my lovely Watson. But wasn't it curious how Juliet pulled it off?

"That was a play! This is real life incase you've noticed! Stuff like that does not exist."

"Doesn't it? Oh John… you see right here that you are wrong. Why waste your breath?

John couldn't understand it. He was a doctor! Sherlock was dead! He'd checked him himself! But… there were talks of certain secretions from amphibians in… NO… no no no… he'd checked! He'd felt for a pulse and there was nothing. They did an autopsy! Again everything was just all wrong!

"I've given you all you need. Well… maybe one more tid bit… you have 24 hours. After that you might want to bury him again. I hear the smell is atrocious."

"Your sick…"

"And your clock is ticking."

John grumbled as he watched Moriarty back up to the door.

"Good luck. Johnny… I'm depending on you… don't disappoint."

And with that, Moriarty slipped out the door with the grace of a cat.

Once John heard the footsteps on the stairs he dropped down to his friend's side.

He couldn't believe it! No way? But he saw it with his own eyes… Evidence that something was still moving around his flat mates body.

A couple of small tiny cuts from the rubble that night and that long red line down the left cheek…. They were HEALING! NOT to mention that Sherlock was beginning to need a shave.

He didn't understand how or even why but at this particular moment he had to concentrate on one thing… what to do about it.

Dead bodies didn't grow hair and they certainly didn't heal! Even though it seemed to be a slow growth it was still something.

The Doctor reached down and picked up Sherlock's limp hand. Suddenly his eyebrows fused together as confusion and a jumbled mess of other feelings flooded him.

The hand was warm.

Fingers felt for a pulse down a bit from the hand he had held. Nothing… Just like before.

But the evidence was right there…

John didn't expect his body's reaction as he gently lifted one of Sherlock's eyelids… and saw something!

"Jesus!" John had jumped to his feet and now hovered over the body in front of him with great interest. He reached for the eyelid again…

And with the lamp from the table above helping along, Sherlock's pupil dilated. Slowly but surely!

John stood up and scratched the short hairs on the back of his neck in thought as he stared downward. "I know he's not dead! Now how do I fix him!" he growled out in frustration and tapped his fingers on his knee as he bent over.

A crash of broken glass behind him and the deep gasp that followed had John cursing severely under his breath as he turned around to the doorway.

"Mrs. Hudson…"

The poor old woman looked passed John at the pale face. The teacup she no doubt brought up to comfort him now lay in pieces at her feet. John rushed the distance to the older woman's side.

"Mrs. Hudson… are you hurt? Did you get burned? Cut?"

She ignored his concerns, still looking at Sherlock around John's shoulder.

"John Watson…" She said breathlessly. "What have you done…"

"What? No… No no Mrs. Hudson I came home to find him here…"

"John this is wrong! What did you do?"

"Mrs. Hudson listen to me… I found him here… He's…"

John stopped talking… not knowing what to continue with. Was he really alive? Should he give this woman hope for nothing if he couldn't figure it out?"

"John… what did you think you could do? Shock him back to life?"

"Mrs. Hudson…." Suddenly John's eyes lit up. Could it be that easy? "Wait… Mrs. Hudson that's it!"

"What? What are you getting at boy?"

"Please do something for me. Go back to your flat and call this number." John reached into his pocket for his cellphone and lunged over for a pen and paper on the lamp table. "Ma'am call this number and tell this man to come here. Just him. That it's important but don't tell him why. Tell him John Watson needs him. He'll come."

Mrs. Hudson was unsure. She looked at John sideways before glancing back over to Sherlock looking uneasy but John knew that she'd do it. The little old lady had a spark to her. She already seemed to be recovering from seeing a presumably dead body in her house.

"Fine…" Stepping over some glass, Mrs. Hudson made her way to the stairs but turned around before she took a step. "John? Fix this…"

"Yes Ma'am…" and John intended to keep his word.

He waited for her door to shut before rushing in the complete opposite direction of Sherlock, up the stairs two at a time to his bedroom… the limp gone and forgotten. He grabbed what he needed, knowing exactly where it was and half slid back down the stairs

John crashed once again to his knees, thinking on a side note that he was going to be pretty bruised before this was over.

He wasted no time with the buttons on the dress shirt and pulled as hard as he could, ignoring the top three buttons that flung themselves about the floor. If he could fix this sick and twisted joke then he'd buy Sherlock another shirt. Right now it was horribly in his way. He placed the shock pads on his friend chest, knowing just where the right place should be…

He couldn't help but notice the happy absence of a Y incision. Maybe James Moriarty WAS that good. He knew Mycroft Holmes had insisted upon an autopsy. After all… he was there.

John was not one to panic in a sticky situation. No… he waited till it was over. But right now his hands shook like he was freezing cold. He'd chalk it up later to excitement and worry… not panic… A trembling index finger hesitated before pressing hard on the button. He waited a moment for the device to charge… the red light turning green as an indication.

This was it…

John took a deep breath and wasted no time roughly pressing the button on the device.

Sherlock's body twitched under the zap. But his eyes remained closed… his chest did not move up and down…

It didn't work.

The doctor's confusion was evident on his face. It should work. Moriarty had all but told him how and why. An electric jolt and then the adrenaline produced should kick start everything back up from its dormant state.

He had to be right!

John hit it again, not caring if it wasn't logical. If he didn't do it now he'd always wonder why he didn't just give it a second chance. At this point it wasn't going to hurt.

And with every fiber of his being… he was glad he did.


	5. Chapter 5

My dear readers! I am so very sorry that i am a week late on my planned update! My laptop had to go in for last minute service after one of my doggies decided to jump onto it. There were crazy lines everywhere! I had to do it right away because my warrenty was literally 5 days away from being over.

But i got it back and even made some changes that i feel have strengthened the chapter. This one was a hard one and very important. I didn't want to get it wrong. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Sherlock's body twitched again as the electric jolt from the portable defibrillator coursed through his body.

And this time it was followed by a delicious hitch and sharp wonderful intake of air.

John watched in disbelief as Sherlock's chest rose and fell in deep gasping breaths as sleeping lungs woke up in an instant.

It just didn't make sense at all!

John pulled off the shock pads and placed skilled fingers to the right point of Sherlock's neck, relishing in the rapidly thumping pulse under his fingers. It was faster then he'd have liked but how was he to complain right now about a beating heart? If he was right about the adrenaline, it may take some time for the heart rate to go down. For the time being it was great just to HAVE a heart rate.

John kept his fingers on Sherlock's pulse but brought his other hand to rest on the side of his friends other cheek. This couldn't be possible! People don't just come back from the dead! And the cases in which people were dead for several MINUTES usually didn't come back… "right". What if Sherlock wasn't "right!" But he couldn't dwell on that now.

He heard a slight groan come from his friend's throat and felt the slight rumble under his fingertips, but those eyes remained closed. Oh how he needed to see those eyes to believe this moment was actually happening! He needed to know Sherlock was there still. Ready and waiting to take the control back.

"Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me? Open your eyes!" His voice was pleading but he didn't care how desperate he currently sounded.

John moved his hand down to rub his knuckles into Sherlock's sternum and in seconds he witnessed small flickers of blue finally escape from under heavy eyelids. The doctor inwardly thanked the heavens that a reaction didn't take long.

John stopped rubbing and rested a gentle hand on his friend's chest, feeling the up and down movement as Sherlock still took in precious oxygen in rapid hitches. Slowly but surely the trickles of blue became larger. John felt himself smile in spite of himself as finally the world's only consulting detective looked at the doctor with eyes at half-staff.

"Hi!" John exhaled breathlessly, the smile still on his lips. "God Sherlock… Welcome Back!"

Sherlock's tired gaze shifted about the room, taking in as much as he could without moving his head. John was pretty certain he couldn't yet. The happiness at seeing his friend alive and breathing momentarily tore his mind from his doctor responsibilities. He had to pull himself back on track. He had to make sure Sherlock was all there. John moved his hand from Sherlock's wrist to his finger, holding them gently in his.

"Sherlock can you squeeze my hand?"

The weak man in front of him gazed lazily at John for a moment and the ex-army doctor couldn't help but guess what snarky response he would have uttered if he had the energy to talk yet.

John smiled as he felt slight pressure in his hand. He couldn't help but release a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Sherlock understood and responded. Thank God…

"J…ohn…" Sherlock's voice was just a whisper but he locked hazy eyes with the doctor above him once again. John's smile was still glowing strongly. He couldn't help the liquid that welled in his eyes. That wrong feeling was now slowly feeling quiet right again. But that moment was quickly tossed to the wayside when Sherlock spoke again. Instead of asking what had happened or what was going on, he got a something that was most definitely and typically "Sherlock". He should have known.

"Get…. A.. sy…ringe..."

"What?" John sat back with confusion on his face.

Sherlock actually looked perturbed for a brief moment before turning his head groggily toward his right arm that lay limp by his side. The energy to try and speak again was momentarily missing.

John was no idiot and caught on fast as he began to roll up the sleeve on his friend's right arm. He was, however, surprised to have found marks in the crook of the Consulting detectives elbow.

"What the bloody hell?" The understanding in John's eyes as he looked back to his friend was immense. Moriarty… that git!

"Cat…ching… on."

John tripped over his own feet as he hoisted himself up and jogged to the kitchen. He knew exactly where to find the box of syringes… next to the spoons of course. Turning back in Sherlock's direction, the view in front of him finally stopped him cold. He knew it was stupid before he did it but that fact didn't stop Dr. Watson from closing his eyes and reopening them. He sighed loudly and made his feet move again. Did he really think when he reopened his eyes that Sherlock wouldn't be there? That this was a dream?

But it didn't matter how he was feeling right now. Sherlock needed him. Moriarty had given his friend something to cause the dormant state. And he was quite sure that Sherlock was aware of it. Whatever it was could still be coursing through his veins but would soon be all but gone as his body began to even back out again

John resumed his position next to his friend. Sherlock's crystal eyes were watching him lazily but closely as he pulled on the arm of the suit coat, loosening it up.

"Can you sit up? I got to get this jacket off."

Sherlock didn't answer but weakly lifted his hand to John as high as he could. He'd only gotten it a foot off the wooden floor before the doctor realized that it just wasn't in the cards yet. John grabbed the weak mans outstretched left hand and pulled a bit as his other hand snaked under Sherlock's right arm and shoulder, lifting the top half of his body off the cold wooden floor. The Consulting detective strained hard to keep his heavy head from lulling back towards the floor while John used the wood to his advantage, sliding his friend back against the armchair closest to them and onto the carpet. Thankfully the carpet would help. The doctor worked with delicate movements to prop up Sherlock as comfortably as he could and slide the arms of the jacket off, one arm at a time. He took great care with his friend's head, grasping at the base of his neck and lowering it gently to the cushion of the chair.

Sherlock's eyes were the only things working for him and John could tell he was taking full advantage as he stared into the doctor's eyes. Looking for something… thinking… working it all out as best he could with a foggy yet brilliant mind. John just hoped he was hiding his emotions well enough from him.

"Sherlock can you squeeze your hand into a fist for me? Right one." John tore his eyes from Sherlock's and focused on the task at hand. Rolling up the unbuttoned arm of the dress shirt properly, John prepped the pale arm and searched for the perfect vein.

"Let your hand rest now…" Sherlock complied and John didn't waste time. His steady hands found their mark and John watched as the red liquid filled the tube at a good click. Sherlock hadn't flinched when the needle pierced his skin and John inwardly hoped it was because of his skills as a doctor. An other piece of John relaxed as he watched the red flow. Even if he'd thought he was dreaming or losing his mind… dead men don't bleed.

Once he put the protective top on the needle, John pressed a paper towel he had also grabbed in the kitchen over the small puncture wound on his friends arm and sat back with a deep sigh.

He stared at his hand and the paper towel for longer then he intended, scared to look up in those eyes again. Those piercing eyes that he'd never thought he'd miss, yet still hid from. No secrets were withheld from those eyes. He'd found that out pretty fast.

"John…"

The doctor closed his eyes and inwardly grimaced… Stupid… he didn't need to LOOK into those eyes for them to pull out his secrets. How soon he'd forgotten. John let his eyes look back up at his friend.

"You ok?"

John couldn't help but let out a shaky laugh and shake his head at the backwards question. He should have been asking that but here was Sherlock Holmes… a man who people claimed did not have a heart… did not care about anyone or anything with true emotion… who they had buried today… asking if HE was alright? Him? After being "killed" and then buried… it was the great consulting detective asking little Dr. Watson if he was "ok."

"I'm great Sherlock…" he laughed out lightly. "How are you doing?"

John's smile got wider as he watched a lazy smirk spread on Sherlock's lips.

"Fantastic."

"Perfect." John reached up and grabbed a light hold on Sherlock's thin shoulder, squeezing gently. His smile started to fad as he stared at his own hand still holding onto his friend. The moment was finally hitting him.

"John?"

The doctor glanced up at his name and Sherlock looked at him curiously. He'd seen the change on the man's face. Not even a fool would miss it. John knew he'd have to explain.

"Its weird to be talking to you right now Sherlock… I… I tried to revive you… and… they put you in a bloody body bag!" John huffed at the sudden tears that came to glisten his eyes and he looked up and away from Sherlock before he could continue. "Today was your funeral. "

John reached unconsciously back down to Sherlock's wrist, making sure he didn't imagine the pulse and blue eyes that he was avoiding. He noted that the pulse was slowing back down to normal.

"How long…"

John opened his mouth and shut it again. The gravelly voice was too calm for this situation and even though that was normal Sherlock behavior he didn't know if he could handle the lack of emotions from his Once-Dead-But-Now-Not So-Much-Dead friend right now.

"Four days."

"Wow…"

John's body froze. It wasn't the word, but again the tone. It just wasn't enough!

"Wow? Is that all you've got? Your brother even cried for you! And all you got is wow?"

"John…."

"No! Listen… You don't understand! People DO care about you… whether you can tell or not! And this has been the week from hell! Just because you cant remember it doesn't mean it should be taken lightly!"

John exhaled deeply in frustration and took a few seconds before he looked back at Sherlock. The man just watched him… waited for him take a breath before he responded.

"You done?"

"I don't know… should I be? Are you getting it?

Sherlock attempted to lift his head from the cushion but failed and resigned himself to continue this conversation as is.

"It wasn't real John…"

"It was real for me… and Mrs. Hudson… Poor Mrs. Hudson! Your brother, your niece and nephew!"

Sherlock actually didn't say anything back. He silently looked up at the doctor, waiting patiently for his emotions to even out. It was a normal response but he knew that John was tough and would bounce out of it quickly and get back on track. And of course… he was hardly ever wrong.

"Sherlock I have to get you to a doctor" John's eyes had cleared and now he was back in doctor mode. It made no sense to continue the conversation. He'd gotten nowhere and it wasn't helping any. So very Sherlock.

"Got one."

"Sherlock…"

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson cut them off as she burst through the flat door and rushed over to the lanky figure still propped on the floor. She grabbed Sherlock's face in between her hands.

"Oh my crazy boy!" She kissed the top of his black curls and shook gently in effect. "I don't know what you boys are on about but you, young man, have taken a good 5 years off of my life! And why are you on the floor?"

"Resting." Sherlock answered with a surprisingly gentle smile. He could see the relief seep into the woman's eyes and John's recent words echoed in his mind.

"We have to get you off the floor." John added trying to give his friend a break from the older woman's smothering.

"That would be good."

Just then the ringing of the old doorbell echoed through the flat, stopping all three.

"Expecting company? Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes actually. Mrs. Hudson?"

"Of course dear…"

Mrs. Hudson headed to the stairs to get the door while Sherlock reached up with as much effort as he could muster and grabbed onto the front of John's sweater, bringing the Doctors attention back to him.

"John… who…"

"Lestrade… should be anyways. When I found you here I had Mrs. Hudson call him. Privately of course."

"Why…"

"Cause we don't have many people we can trust Sherlock." Sherlock let his hand fall back to the floor, accepting the answer, but the questions were evident on his face. And John knew Sherlock couldn't handle unanswered questions for long. He might as well help the poor man out. "Moriarty was here."

"I know…" Sherlock's answer was a bit too quick and John couldn't help the stutter.

"Y… you…. Know?"

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and answered nonchalantly. "Well… obviously. Who else."

John gave him a side look that screamed 'bullshit'. "Sherlock, I know you well enough to know you got more then 'who else'.

Sherlock fluttered his eyes back open but turned away from John's stare as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. "Of course I do… all in due time. We have company coming."

John huffed but he wasn't really mad. It was normal Sherlock and he was more then glad to have him back… even if he WAS taking this a little too well. The doctor pulled himself up off the floor and hurried over to the door, hoping to break this easy on the inspector. He was just in time and caught Lestrade on the top of the staircase before he could really see into the flat.

The DI looked a bit frazzled and glanced down at the crunch of glass under his shoes. "John? Is everything alright? Why did you have Mrs. Hudson call? And why the hell is there glass all over the place?"

"I was hoping no one would be paying attention to her phone calls… and she dropped a teacup."

"What? Phone calls?" The DI's eyebrows fused in confusion.

"Lestrade… Moriarty was here when I got up the stairs tonight."

The Inspector put his hands on his hips in frustration. "What the hell? So he's alive then… What did he want?"

"Yes he's alive. And looking quite well… the bloody bastard. He dropped something off. I'm not sure what it means to be honest but I'm sure its all part of another game."

"Games… I'm sick of Games. Was never very good at them."

John could see the sadness appear on the man's face. He knew Lestrade was inwardly thinking about Sherlock and his ability to solve these games and how helpful it would be right now.

"Lestrade… I don't know how I can break this gently to you. So…" John grabbed the inspector by the upper arm and pulled him into the flat the last 4 steps.

The gasp that followed was expected and John walked himself slowly back over to Sherlock who was busy trying to pull himself farther up into a sitting position.

"I can't believe it…" the Detective Inspector's jaw was dropped and his eyes were wide with shock. He certainly hadn't expected this when he rushed over to check on John.

"Yea well… believe it." John replied, reaching down and grabbing Sherlock gently under his right arm. "Here help me…"

Lestrade, being a man of the force and seeing some amazingly horrible and surprising things, pulled himself out of his shock relatively fast and put his jaw back into place as he walked tentatively over to Sherlock's left side. He didn't reach down to help right away, still taking in Sherlock's presents and not to mention those piercing eyes were on him.

"Lestrade… I'm not going to bite you."

John let out a short laugh and patted Sherlock on the shoulder lightly. "Am I mistaken or was that a zombie joke?"

Sherlock smirked again but didn't verbally answer.

Lestrade snapped out of it and leaned down to take Sherlock's other arm. "I didn't know you had a sense of humor Holmes."

With a nod from John, both men lifted up as gently as they could and placed Sherlock into the armchair. The weak man bit his lip as his sore muscles began waking up. The pins and needles feeling coursed through his body as he was lifted up and the grimace on his face did not escape John's notice.

"Sorry Sherlock… It's probably going to be a bit painful for a while longer. The numbness is subsiding."

Sherlock nodded and let his head lull back again.

"How is this possible? We all went to your funeral. You were buried." Lestrade still had a certain kind of look on his face that screamed confusion and even a bit of annoyance at not knowing all that was going on.

"So I keep hearing…"

"Moriarty gave him something. " John interrupted. "I don't know when or how but it slowed down his body to dormant levels. "

"After I pulled you out of the pool." Sherlock's voice was still rough and strained but it was now sounding less like a whisper and more himself.

"What?"

"I got you out… and he got me while I was laying there catching my breath."

John just stared down at Sherlock. He had no recollection of getting out of the pool. He'd just resigned himself to thinking he'd done so unconsciously. They'd been told that Sherlock died of compression. That his insides had crushed from the blast. John should have known better. Here he thought he'd helped with killing his friend when he leaped at him, sending them both into the pool. His body had taken more of the blast then Sherlock's. He'd felt it for days afterwards. Hell… he still felt it.

Sherlock had saved his life. HE pulled him out of the pool. All the signs were there. After spending so much time with the consulting detective he should have known to look deeper.

In his line of work dead was dead. There was no coming back. How could he blame himself? He'd checked Sherlock's pulse himself. How was he suppose to know what was happening?

But John had touched Sherlock's chest… He'd performed CPR. His fingers felt no breaks, no fragments of ribs. No signs of compression. How come this only registered to him now?

"John… snap out of it."

John looked back down at his friend who was now shaking his head slightly at him. Of course Sherlock knew he'd been berating himself in his head.

"Shut up."

"Right."

Lestrade watched the two good friends and smiled. For personal and professional reasons he was glad to have Sherlock back. But his relief he was sure had nothing on John's. Sherlock was a different breed. No one ever seemed to understand him… until John. Their friendship was something he may never understand. Two fractured souls, one from War and one from misunderstanding, pieced back together. This moment was surely treasured miracle. It was shame he'd have to interrupt it.

"So what's next?"

Sherlock went to open his mouth but John cut him off.

"What ever you're about to say better involve getting food into you and then to bed. Your body is recovering. Moriarty's game can wait."

"Ok... Game… What's he got going on now?" Lestrade really didn't think he wanted to know but he had to ask.

"When I came up into the flat and found Sherlock laying here… Moriarty was here too. He told me I had 24 hours to bring you around." He said down to his friend. "He actually helped me figure it out. I'm sure he meant to. Something Mrs. Hudson said caught me onto it though."

"Adrenaline."

"Well... yes how'd you know?"

Sherlock lifted his eyebrows and John rolled his eyes. "Never mind… you always know."

Mrs. Hudson returned with a small glass of Orange Juice and John smiled in appreciation. That motherly instinct certainly came in handy.

"Thanks Mrs. Hudson… We have to get some food in him too… how about some soup?"

"Of course dear. I have some broth warming on the stove."

"You truly are the best." John didn't know what he'd have done without her.

"Anything for my boys." The older lady handed John the glass and ruffled Sherlock's black curls gently before walking back out.

Lestrade couldn't help but smile at the little old lady as she passed but got right back to serious. "So you're saying we shouldn't do anything right now?"

"For now…" John replied as he helped Sherlock sit up a bit straighter. "I want to get Sherlock back on his feet first."

"Do you really think he's going to believe you didn't figure it out?" Lestrade shook his head at his own words. "The guy seems to be 5 steps ahead of everyone."

"I hope he does." John leaned down and took Sherlock's weak hand in his own, encircling them around the glass of orange juice. "Drink this… it'll boost your blood sugar."

"Yes Doctor Watson." Sherlock shakily lifted the glass to his lips and poured a fair amount of the cold sweet liquid in. It felt and tasted wonderfully but John stopped him before he could finish off the glass.

"Slowly" John whispered, and took the glass back as Sherlock grumbled slightly.

"What will we be doing in the mean time?" Lestrade locked eyes with Sherlock for a brief second before looking back at John.

"Go do what you normally do. Not one word about Sherlock to anyone. Act like you never saw him."

"Alright… then?"

"Then I don't know what. I think we can figure out our next course of action once Sherlock's brain is running on all cylinders. " The Doctor brought the glass back down to Sherlock's waiting fingers.

"I'm fine…" Sherlock mumbled before taking another sip.

John patted Sherlock on the shoulder with a smirk. "Of course you are."

"What about Mycroft." Lestrade honestly didn't know why they called him and not Sherlock's well-connected brother.

"What about him…"

"Sherlock…" John scolded. "I'll contact him once I get this one settled. He can help"

"Help…" Sherlock huffed.

John shushed him again and set the now empty glass on the side table before motioning Lestrade to walk to the doorway. John followed him over.

"Do you need any help getting him into bed?"

"I'm going to give him some more time here. Let him eat first. I want to check him over too. Technically he never received treatment from that night and may still be feeling some effects. Can you do me a favor?"

John reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the vile of blood.

"Can you bring this to Molly at St. Bart's? Ask her to analyze it. It's Sherlock's but don't tell her where it's from."

"Of course."

"Only Molly… and ask her if she knows a Jerry Williams…"

"John…. Its ok… I got this. Go take care of him."

"Thanks again…"

Lestrade put a hand up to stop the doctor. "What did I tell you about saying 'Thank you?'"

"Right… well good luck."

Lestrade looked over John's shoulder to Sherlock who had been watching them like a cat. "You too…"

* * *

After Sherlock ate half a cup of Mrs. Hudson's soup, John was satisfied enough to get his friend up and into bed.

"Think you can stand?"

Sherlock looked up at John and momentarily paused before giving a curt nod. There was a hint of insecurity in his eyes but John ignored it. He knew Sherlock would as well. He'd stand up and dance if someone told him he couldn't.

"We'll take it slowly. Just let me know when you've had enough." John reached down and took the crook of Sherlock's elbow. He waited patiently while his friend pulled his lethargic legs into position and his other hand securely on the armrest for leverage.

It took some shuffling but Sherlock was able to get to his feet and stay there with help. John waited a few touchy seconds for the taller man to find his footing and threw a long arm over his own shoulders.

"Ready?"

"Always…"

The first two steps were rough and John took on all the weight laid upon his weary body to keep them both standing. Once they both found their momentum things got easier and the bedroom got closer. Sherlock's knees buckled every few steps from weakness but they made it to Sherlock's bedroom without too much trouble. John knew the food had helped tremendously but wouldn't be satisfied till he checked him over.

John deposited Sherlock on the edge of the bed and went over to the dresser. He did some rummaging before throwing an old t-shirt and pajama bottoms at the dark haired man.

"You can handle this right?"

"Of course."

John nodded and closed the door gently, leaving Sherlock to change on his own. He could have helped but he knew helping feed him earlier was degrading enough for the other man. Besides… He needed to start doing things for himself and get himself jumpstarted. John headed back to grab a few things to keep his friend occupied and still in a relaxed position. Laptop, pile of newspapers… he even considered wheeling in the TV but decided not to. They didn't have time to be watching TV.

John gave Sherlock a good 5 minutes before coming back with his hands full. He knocked on the door gently and when he received a mumbled "Come in" he wasn't expecting to find Sherlock having a row with his t-shirt.

The Doctor tried his best not to giggle at the sight and set the stuff in his hands down onto the side table. "Troubles?"

Sherlock let his tired arms fall back down to his side. "Arms aren't cooperating yet."

"Well I'm glad you at least got the bottoms on." John said with a smile trying to lighten the mood.

"Ha…"

John reached over and pulled the t-shirt free of the curly head to straighten it out. His movements stopped briefly when his eyes landed on the bruises covering his friend's torso. He hated to think of how he'd gotten them. Were they from the explosion? His CPR attempt? Or were Moriarty's men less then gentle pulling him out of his grave and dragging him into the flat. John shook his head slightly to rid himself of the thoughts digging in deeply. He stretched the neck out slightly on the T-shirt before putting it over Sherlock's curls and then guided his friend's arms in the sleeves one at a time as gently as possible. Sherlock took control on pulling it down the rest of the way and sighed deeply in frustration.

"Don't worry… It'll get easy faster then you think."

"Yea…" Sherlock paused, looking over at what John had set down. His laptop with some newspapers on top. Finally he looked up, his eyes soft and gentle. "Thank you John."

"No problem."

"No really… Thank You. I'd still be… if you hadn't… "

John interrupted him, clearly not ready to discuss this yet. It had been a long night and his head was still wrapping around everything. The timing was terrible.

"Sherlock can we talk about it later? Stretch out and I'll check you over."

"I don't get mushy often John…" Sherlock scolded light heartedly. "Or actually… ever…"

"I know… I just cant right now…" John looked right into those sharp blue eyes to emphasis his words.

"Ok." Sherlock looked slightly dejected and that rare look had John scrambling to explain.

"I'm sorry… it's just… too much to soon you see. And I need to concentrate here. "

"I understand…"

John smiled warmly. "I hope so…. And anyway... you don't need to say it. Now stretch out. I want to check you over. Anything hurt?"

Sherlock scooted up onto the bed sluggishly and plopped his head on the pillow. "Honestly everything is sore."

"The sad thing about that is…" John started while running his fingers along Sherlock's ribs through the thin t-shirt, checking for any cracks or breaks. "… I don't know if it's from the lack of use or from the bomb."

"Well… Nothing feels broken if that helps." Sherlock added as John continued from his ribs to his neck and shoulders and down his arms, checking the bones, muscles, and tendons... Everything. "Who is Jerry Williams?"

"Hmmm…. What?"

"You told Lestrade to ask Molly if she knew a Jerry Williams."

John looked up from his examination, slight shock and a touch of amusement on his features. "Why would I think you didn't hear that? Jerry Williams was at the morgue… that night. He was in charge of your autopsy. He'd told us your cause of death."

"Well obviously he is part of the game. As far as I knew there is no Jerry Williams working there." Sherlock suddenly hissed as John's fingers ran over a bruised part of his skin.

"Sorry…" John whispered as he moved farther along. "Exactly… and you would know. He surely knew you weren't dead. I'm thinking that he may have given you another injection to keep you under. You have more then one mark." John's fingers ghosted over the marks on his friends arm. "I just want to verify with Molly. Either he's an actual employee that is under Moriarty's control or…"

"Or he was placed."

John nodded. "Right."

"I'm quite sure he's gone now." Sherlock said his last word through gritted teeth as John ran over another sore bruise.

"I'm sure you are right." John ran his fingers back over Sherlock's ribs, double-checking for his own piece of mind. "Bare with me a few more minutes. Almost done."

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. "Why wasn't Molly there? She always likes to work the later shifts."

"She… left…"

John's words had the consulting detective open his eyes again. "That doesn't sound like Molly."

"Well where you are concerned… she couldn't control her emotions."

"Hmm…."

John pulled his eyes from his examination when his flat mate became silent. Clearly thinking deeply on the last thing he'd said. His eyes were looking straight up at the ceiling with a grimace on his face.

"Don't ponder so hard over someone else's feelings Sherlock. You'll hurt yourself. I told you people mourned for you."

Sherlock was silent but he looked at john with a painful expression. Not physical pain… but another kind of pain. An expression he last saw on his friend's face the night he yanked a bomb vest off his back. John wanted to bring the conversation back to the present and get rid of that look on Sherlock's face. "Ever had a broken bone before?"

The dark haired man blinked a few times and brought himself back out of his mind once more. "A Couple…"

"Ok then… so you'd know how it feels."

"Oh yes…"

John finished up with Sherlock's collarbone and nodded in approval. "Do you think your legs are fine?"

"Yes just sore."

"Well Sherlock I think you'll be just fine. You need to rest now though… And I'm serious. No overdoing it."

Sherlock nodded but John was pretty sure his friends mind was already running many scenarios as to what he'd rather be doing then laying in bed.

"I'm going to go make myself something to eat and check on Mrs. Hudson. I'm leaving your door open so just yell if you need anything."

"You should sleep."

"And leave you to your own devices? You really do think me a fool don't you Sherlock."

"I think nothing of the sort. You look tired."

"I'm bloody exhausted… thanks for noticing. Read your paper… catch up on your Laptop. But NO updating your blog… don't do anything to signal your alive. Not yet."

"You are no fun." Sherlock responded with a hint of amusement.

"So I've been told." John lifted himself from the edge of the bed and headed to the door.

"Hey John?"

"Mmm…" The doctor stopped in the doorway and looked back at his name.

Sherlock paused a brief moment but kept a firm hold on John's stare.

"I'm glad you're on my side."

John stopped a moment, taking in those words. Suddenly a smile spread over his tired face.

"Likewise… Goodnight Sherlock. Call if you need me."

Sherlock nodded lightly with a fresh smile to match John's. "Always."

John nodded his goodnight and pulled the door halfway shut behind him. He stood for a moment; eyes closed, and tried to take in the events of the day. Certainly a rollercoaster of emotions from start to finish.

He moved away slowly from the door and headed over to the sink. His hand hovered over the kettle but soon withdrew. He didn't have the energy to bother making tea or food right now. Instead, John moved his way to the flat door and shut it tight, locking each lock including the chain. Then he made his way over to the couch and sat down heavily. Maybe in a few minutes he would recover from the overwhelming feeling in his body. Maybe a few minutes nap would do the trick as well. Then he'd make something to eat and check on Mrs. Hudson. All he needed was a 5 minutes catnap. Then he'd be ok.

John leaned his head back into the cushions and his aching and tired body relaxed into the material.

The relaxed and loose feeling in his muscles felt wonderful. Even his mind seemed to clear itself. He hadn't felt this ease in so long.

Sherlock was alive… and even with all the newly added stuff… Moriarty and his new game… their unknown next step… he couldn't seem to care at the moment. Things were actually feeling more normal even with how messed up everything still seemed to be. It was odd how that worked out. But of course ever since he met Sherlock Holmes the definition of "Normal" had been slightly skewed.

Hopefully in the morning they could work out a plan. But for now, John let his eyes close. He would think no further tonight as darkness overtook him.


	6. Chapter 6

First of all... let me just say how sorry i am for taking so long to update. I had more issues with the computer and then with this chapter. I will be the first to say i'm not completely happy with it but it got what i wanted to come across just fine. So i hope you all enjoy it! I have a bit more to go with this story so i hope you all stick with me!

Thanks and enjoy!

* * *

Sherlock woke up before John. He knew the Doctor was still sleeping by the quietness of the house. Only the faint sound of cars driving down Baker St. and the occasional chirping bird filtered through his ears. There was no water boiling. No smell of tea or Coffee from the kitchen, which is one of John's first things to do when he wakes up. He'd even known almost exactly when his friend gave up the fight and passed out on the couch last night.

John deserved a good nights sleep. He'd smiled at his friend's choice in sticking close by. It was in John's nature to be protective and the action of putting himself in between Sherlock and anything that could come through the flat door was proof of it.

It was hard for him to admit he needed help or that he wasn't in control. But under these circumstances… he had no choice. It was not of his doing so he shouldn't feel ashamed…. But he slightly was. He'd dozed off pretty fast after he knew John was fast asleep. But a few hours later, he'd been woken up by his own body.

He'd made it to the bathroom with the aid of the furniture around the room and even had enough energy left to clean himself up a bit. He washed his face and shaved but he couldn't wait until he could stand in the shower. It was very silly and so very… human of him to feel like he needed to get the days events off of him with hot running water.

Sherlock stretched out his aching limbs, checking to see how his body was feeling today. He hated this helpless feeling. He wanted to hop down the stairs and run down Baker Street just to say he could. It might be a bit before he was in order enough to run. But the way he was feeling right now, standing might be easier then last night.

He sat up slowly and dragged his legs over the bed. The floor was cold on his bare feet but he didn't care. The feeling was wonderful.

He'd made it slowly to the bedroom door to gaze out at the empty kitchen. The room was clean. Things were put away in their proper place and Sherlock was pretty sure the refrigerator would be fully stocked. John was the clean one and no doubt he'd thrown himself into it after that night.

The consulting detective carried on through the kitchen to look around the rest of the flat. The lamp was still on by the couch… the shades were drawn closed tightly and John Watson was curled up in a tight ball on the couch. His eyes were closed and his breathing was slowly and deep.

Sherlock considered the sight and shuffled slowly over to his sleeping friend. The doctor must have been exhausted for he forgot to pull a blanket over himself and was clearly chilled as he curled in on himself. Sherlock grabbed the throw on the back of the armchair and gently pulled it over John's sleeping form.

He nodded with approval and headed slowly back over to the kitchen. He might as well do something useful and make some tea for the both of them. He knew he couldn't do much else right now but he could wait for water to boil and put a tea bag in a cup. Sure… no problem.

Sherlock filled the kettle and got it to the glowing stovetop just as the doorbell buzzed.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock made his way over to the door. John hadn't moved from the sound but surely he'd wake soon for this could only be one person. The door had been locked and chained shut and Sherlock looked through the peephole to see if his prediction was true. Who else would bother John so early in the morning since no one would be looking for Sherlock?

He rolled his eyes once again, not amused as he identified the form on the other side and validated himself.

Sherlock unlatched the locks and pulled the chain off the door before yanking it open.

"Mycroft…"

Mycroft Holmes dropped his jaw in shock at seeing his dead brother open the door. A flutter of emotion that, on a normal day, wouldn't have been detectable on the older Holmes had filtered out of his facial features. But just as a Holmes would do… he sucked up his emotions fast as he watch his brother make slow but meaningful steps back into the kitchen. He was now full of questions and genuine concern. His brother was walking way too slowly.

So… Sherlock was alive… but not alright.

"Well that explains the grave then…" Mycroft mumbled as he walked in and shut the door behind him. His eyes went over to John's sleeping form on the couch briefly. Obviously John knew and placed himself in a position to guard.

"What?" Sherlock turned slightly, clearly not that interested in the answer as he walked back to the stove to check on the water. Small bubbles streamed up from the bottom, soon to be a full-blown boil.

"Oh nothing… Just got a call this morning that your grave had been dug up and your body was missing. Get bored with being dead little brother?" Mycroft stood behind a chair at the table, watching his weak looking sibling make his tea, waiting for an answer…. Any answer.

Sherlock gave Mycroft a sideways glance. "Yea… death… not my thing. Very dull"

Mycroft sighed in exasperation. "Sherlock…"

"Mycroft…" The younger brother bit back with a bored tone. He was now leaning heavily on the counter next to the stove but managed to keep a strong stare.

"What's going on here? Just a few days ago I stood over your body in St. Bart's Morgue. Yesterday the kids and I mourned over your grave at your funeral. Now your making tea."

Sherlock lifted an eyebrow. "I like tea…"

"Sherlock… please. While I'm very glad to see you alive… I need to know what's going on here!" Mycroft's voice was no longer calm as he shouted at the last part of his sentence.

Sherlock was now pretty sure that John would be waking up really soon and his help right now would be well appreciated. He didn't have the energy or patience right now to deal with Mycroft.

He was now wishing he hadn't opened the door after all.

"It's a long story."

"And I have no pressing plans…" Mycroft proved his point by taking off his coat and laying it on the back of the chair. He clearly wasn't going anywhere.

Sherlock paused a moment, looking down at the now bowling pot of water. A sound from the other room had him closing his eyes in a silent thank you.

"Let John explain. He has more data… he'd be better at it then I."

Sherlock then looked up passed Mycroft to John standing behind them, his clothes rumpled and looking a bit shocked at the situation. He'd heard some talking but wasn't expecting Mycroft to be standing in their kitchen… or Sherlock for that matter.

"Good Morning John… sleep well?" Sherlock asked as he poured the contents of the kettle into two mugs, not even looking up.

"Uh… yea… Mycroft."

"John." Both men nodded at each other.

Everyone was frozen for a moment before Sherlock picked up one of the warm mugs to hand out to John.

"You made tea?" John's confused expression made the taller man smirk and John took the mug that was offered to him.

"Don't look so shocked." Sherlock picked up his own mug and tried to take a small step toward John and Mycroft when his knee gave out slightly and he wobbled. John shook himself out of his shocked pose and took the necessary steps over to Sherlock in "catch" range. He nabbed the mug out of Sherlock's hand and put it on the table in front of a waiting chair.

"Sit down for crying out loud. The last thing we need is for you to burn yourself when you collapse on the floor.

"I'm not going to collapse." He argued but he sat in the chair anyways, hooking his long pale fingers back around the steaming cup in front of him.

"Well John?" Mycroft was clearly annoyed and anxious. Two things the doctor was just not at all use to from the elder brother.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you last night Mycroft. Things were a bit crazy." John took the seat corner to Sherlock and Mycroft sat across from his brother. He'd stared right at him for a moment but Sherlock never looked up from his mug.

"I will forgive that John if you would just get straight to the point."

* * *

John took the next ten minutes to give a run down on all that had happened yesterday. Starting with when he left the cemetery to when he plunked himself onto the couch. Mycroft surprisingly hadn't interrupted him but his stare had made the doctor slightly uncomfortable. He didn't shy away though. He wouldn't let Mycroft intimidate him. Apparently he still didn't know John Watson. If he could handle Sherlock, he could handle his brother.

"So he should be alright in a few days?"

"Yes. His body will be a bit off for a while. He'll be rundown but he should be just fine." John snuck a quick glance at Sherlock who hadn't spoken either through the explanation. He'd only taken small sips of his tea, staring off into the tabletop. John knew that look and was certain Sherlock's brain was running on overdrive, taking in all the information again and forming some sort of deduction from it all.

"That is good news… and a true relief."

Sherlock huffed and took a slow sip of his tea. John almost kicked him under the table but stopped himself at the last minute. Sherlock was still healing and besides… the man never seems to care that he was being rude… especially not to Mycroft who merely showed concern.

"Why must you be so difficult Sherlock? I care for your wellbeing."

"I'm not being difficult brother. This topic is now overdone."

Mycroft shook his head. "You were declared dead. The topic is nowhere near over. There's paperwork and announcements to make. Plans to put into place. People to alert."

Sherlock shifted slowly in his chair and exhaled deeply, holding the moment for his own. He clearly had something to say.

"I'm sure mummy will be pleased"

The silence that followed was deafening…. John looked from Sherlock to Mycroft and then back again, unsure as to way the moment turned awkward.

"Oh Sherlock…" Mycroft was clearly exasperated. "You know I didn't tell mother…"

And there it was… the reason for the awkwardness. John's jaw hit the floor.

"And why not?" Both Holmes' looked at John Watson, not expecting him to enter into this conversation. Sherlock smirked though at the anger blazing in the doctor's eyes.

Mycroft turned slightly in John's direction. "Sherlock's childish antics in the past have made things difficult on our mother's health. She's old and fragile."

"Oh piss off Mycroft. Mother isn't that fragile. And she wouldn't have known about all of it if you hadn't tattled." Sherlock pushed his mug aside.

"Tattled? Honestly Sherlock! Are we really sinking this low?"

Sherlock glared up at his brother before sighing and closing his eyes to block out the sight of him. "Nothing changes does it?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing… Just…. Forget it Mycroft."

Mycroft didn't have a chance to respond when John, who chose to NOT forget it, spoke up again. He was riding the waves of his anger like a seasoned surfer.

"Why didn't you tell her that her own son had died?" John didn't even realize that Sherlock's mother wasn't at the funeral. He was so concerned with his own grief that he'd forgotten that his friend's mother was still alive.

"John… He hardly visits her… He doesn't call. It's possible in her frame of mind that she'd never realize Sherlock was… missing."

Sherlock spoke up again, staring in into the table top but not really seeing it. His mind was now zoning.

"Until she saw it in the papers."

"Sherlock."

"Or when the maids turn the TV on for her midday' stories'"

"I alerted…"

"Or when she's out with her Bridge club… and one offers their condolences."

"Alright Enough!" Mycroft stomped his umbrella and made a sort of growl and groan noise in his throat. He knew his little brother was trying to get to him… and he had.

Sherlock looked up innocently now… knowing he'd struck a cord. He won round one even if the victory was tainted by the rare emotion he know felt.

"I am always the responsible sibling. I have to take care of everything in this family… be the brave face. When I got word that… you… I wanted to mourn for you Sherlock. But I couldn't! I had to man up and deal with it all!"

Sherlock just watched as Mycroft dug the tip of his umbrella into the hard wood.

"Forgive me for not having the strength to tell our mother that her youngest son was dead.' Mycroft had turned toward John as well.

There was silence for a moment and John felt pretty bad. This man had taken care of him after that horrible night and now he was helping attack him.

He wasn't sure how this tense moment was going to end… Till Sherlock spoke up again…

"... killed by shooting a bomb…. How anti-heroic."

Mycroft lifted his eyebrow at his brother's comment, seeing the moment change into something totally different.

"In a dark pool hall… so uncivilized."

"And at midnight… inconceivable."

"With an ex-army doctor…." Sherlock looked at John and Mycroft didn't go on.

"Actually that's the proudest part of it all." Sherlock said, a full honest smile on his lips.

"Yes I suppose your right." And surprisingly… Mycroft developed a smile of his own.

John wasn't sure what the hell just happened but the guilt was still lying on his mind pretty thick. "I'm sorry Mycroft…. I…"

"No no John. I can see the point. It was hard enough to tell my kids…."

"I understand. I shouldn't have…" But Mycroft interrupted him.

"No… you should. Its nice to know he has someone to stick up for him when I'm not around." His gaze turned back to his brother who just watched in amusement, a sparkle in his gaze now that everyone was getting along.

And what he was about to say…

"So… About Moriarty."

Both Mycroft and John groaned at the same time.

"We should leave it be brother."

"Dull…" Sherlock waved a weak pale hand at them.

"Of course you would only care about the game." Mycroft muttered. All he wanted was to see his brother back to his old self. He didn't want to deal with this Moriarty nonsense right now… or ever.

"Well right now Mycroft that's what we are facing first."

"You don't have to. You choose to. We could walk you right out of this building right now and plunk you onto the sidewalk for all to see… including this Moriarty character. Then the current game would be over."

"Then he'd come up with a new one… or already has one ready and waiting." John couldn't help but interject. He didn't like it… but it was true. The Holmes brothers seem to be forgetting that he was in on this too. He had been promoted to "player" now.

Sherlock smiled in John's direction as Mycroft grumbled and stared ahead.

"Yes… he will. There is no avoiding that. But at least you will be well rested and ready for it. You can barely walk Sherlock."

Sherlock strummed his fingers on the table, regarding his brother. "I can walk… Besides... I don't need to walk to think. We still have till 7pm tonight to rest."

"10 more hours" John added.

"What are you getting at?" Mycroft didn't like this beating around the bush stuff.

"We have to make the first move or else he will." Sherlock blurted out.

"We need a plan…" John added.

Mycroft looked at each of them. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson… yes… they were a dangerous combination.

"I'm sure Sherlock has worked it all out."

"Indeed." Sherlock confirmed Mycroft's words with a nod.

"Well we should assume Moriarty knows by now… I'm sure he has the house bugged." John said while crossing his arms and looking about the kitchen suspiciously.

Sherlock smirked and looked John in the eye. "Wouldn't matter if he did."

"And why is that?" Confusion covered the doctor's face.

"It won't work." Sherlock's matter-of-fact- tone didn't help ease John's confusion.

"What won't work?"

Sherlock sighed loudly, looking like he wanted to shake his friend into some sense.

"The bug… it wouldn't work. I have a blocker."

"What? Where?" John let his eyes roam around the flat again. Why didn't he ever know this stuff?

Sherlock just smiled and sipped his tea again.

"Fine don't tell me… clever though… also explains the sudden drop in calls lately."

"I installed it that night after you left… If you must know."

"Brilliant." John muttered.

"Naturally…"

"Ok Mr. Ego… how do we know that Moriarty doesn't still know somehow?

Sherlock shook his head. "We don't…"

"We don't… great… ok." John put his hands flat on the table in a desperate attempt to ground himself.

"He cant see in here… he cant hear in the flat either. And it was wonderful that you fell asleep with the lamp on last night John. Shutting it off would have been problematic."

John looked at his friend and saw pride on his face. But John still didn't comprehend why that was a good thing. He felt like he was the stupid kid in class made to team up with the two brightest kids in school for a difficult project worth 100% of their grade.

"Why?"

"Because you would never give up John. Shutting the light off would signal an end." Mycroft interjected, trying to help.

"So turning the light off would mean that I stopped fighting…"

"Right…" Mycroft added. "Which would mean to him that you'd fixed it."

"We'll I'm sure that he saw Lestrade come in here last night."

Mycroft opened his mouth to continue but Sherlock eyed him, signaling that he had this.

"That's fine… you needed help… you needed someone to know. So you called a cop. You are just thinking within the normal parameters. I'm sure Lestrade walked out flustered. He could make many conclusions from that. Plus you sent him to see Molly… To test blood. With that action you are only saying you are still fighting. No concrete evidence that you woke me up." Sherlock sounded so sure and John knew that that alone should be a comfort. But for some reason he wasn't feeling any better about what was to come.

"And Mycroft coming here?"

"It's been…" Sherlock's pale fingers wrapped around John's wrist and pulled it toward him, reading the watch on his arm. "…14 hours since last night… give or take a few minutes. You tried Lestrade and now its time for you to go for the big guns. Frustration and defeat or setting in now. Its simple John." Sherlock smiled warmly at his friend and let him have his hand back.

John rolled his eyes. Simple… sure it was. "But it could easily go the other way Sherlock… "

"He won't think that way."

"Of course and you would know…" John put his head in his hands, rubbing the still lingering sleep out of his eyes and over his forehead at the temples to try and get his brain to wrap around all of this.

"So what do we do in 10 hours?" The older Holmes asked while leaning back into his seat and folding his hands on his crossed knees.

Sherlock eyed his brother and leaned in closely.

"I need a few things from you…"

Mycroft stared back, waiting for the order.

"I need you to get an ambulance here. Preferably parked in the back of this building." Mycroft nodded and Sherlock went on, sure that his brother would be putting all of this in his special mental notepad. I need you to get people that have no identities. They can't be pulled up on a computer. And…" Sherlock paused a second. "A body bag

John's head snapped up. "A what?"

"Ambulance…?" Sherlock said innocently. He clearly knew John wouldn't like the last part but tried to lighten the moment anyways.

"No Sherlock… that last part!"

"John…" Sherlock placed a hand on John's arm but the doctor shook him off.

"What are you getting at here…"? John was NOT liking this idea already.

"Well I cant stay in here forever and if you want to still try and fool Moriarty we are going to have to get things moving along."

John rubbed his hands in his hair again, causing the short strands to go in every which way but right.

"What does that have to do with needing a bloody body bag? I really don't like this."

"I didn't think you would… but you'll have to get over it John. Its necessary."

"Necessary my ass." The doctor's hands slapped the table in frustration but the Holmes's brothers ignored his outburst.

"What else…"

Sherlock looked back his brother. "Lestrade should be here too. "

"Why?" John wasn't done being bitchy and uncomfortable with all of this.

"There are many reasons… but mostly because you've already involved him. It makes sense that he be here."

"So we take you out in the ambulance… and I assume you will be going to my compound. "

Sherlock openly grimaced. "Unfortunately. It's well guarded."

"But why would you go there? Wouldn't he expect us to take you to a hospital?" John was glad that his tone was even. He didn't know how he'd collected himself.

"No… I'm dead remember? Why would you bring me to a hospital? Besides. The complications from all the extra questions as to how I got there… again… Very unnecessary."

"Right… I get it…" And this time… John Watson actually did.

"You are planning to play it up aren't you brother…" It was not a question.

"The family plot is there. Yes I do plan on playing it up. Besides… I didn't get to see my first funeral." Sherlock's face was now lit like a child on Christmas morning.

"And you wont be seeing this one either. Its all for naught if your recognized… even if someone were looking from behind the gate they'd notice your stature a mile away."

The younger brother glared at Mycroft.

"Your just as much fun as John."

The two men looked at each other and John shrugged. "Maybe he can watch from a window." He said to Mycroft.

Sherlock grumbled. "Whatever."

"Then what do I do?" John couldn't' help but notice that he wasn't involved in any of this planning. What was he suppose to do during all of this?

"Go on like normal John. "

"Normal…. Yea…" What was normal? Had he ever known it?

Mycroft knew that this was probably the best time to be making his leave.

"Well I best be on… many things to do."

"Right... of course Mycroft. Thank you for your help." John was desperate to change the subject anyways before he got stuck on what Sherlock expected his normal to be.

Sherlock pushed himself away from the table and leaned hard on the wood surface and back of the chair to pull himself to his feet. John was there in a flash, putting a strong hand under the tall mans arm and helped pull him completely to his feet. The wobble didn't last as long this time and he nodded at John that he was steady enough. John let him go but didn't go far as they all walked over to the door.

Mycroft put his hand on the doorknob but did not turn. His gaze went back to his little brother who stood just behind him. He'd thought he'd lost him forever and the guilt that robbed him of breath for days was now diminishing. He had always wanted a better relationship with his brother and felt robbed of the opportunity. He couldn't express the joy he now felt at this second chance.

Before he could over think his actions, he reached over to Sherlock and embraced him. Sherlock had become ridged at the sudden hold but relaxed quickly; slightly shocked at himself for enjoying the comfort and love that was so obviously the cause for this rare act from his older brother.

Mycroft refused to let go right away and Sherlock accepted, wrapping his long arms around his brother to return the embrace. His hold was weak but the older Holmes knew it was genuine. He heard his little brother inhale deeply and exhale slowly, at ease at this moment even with the uncommon show of emotion.

John couldn't help but watch. He knew Mycroft needed this moment of connection and he was pretty sure, even though Sherlock wouldn't bring it up again or even admit it if it had, that he needed it too.

Finally Mycroft squeezed a little tighter and rubbed his brothers back briefly before pulling out of the embrace. He instead placed his arms on his brother's shoulders, staring into his blue eyes.

"I love you…. You know that right?"

"I've always known…"

"Good…" Mycroft smiled as he let go and Sherlock actually returned the gesture. "I will see you both later."

And with a quick but graceful and fluid motion, the elder Holmes opened the door and slipped out, leaving nothing but a small click behind.

Sherlock stood for a moment, staring at the door, not sure how to continue. The moment had frozen him.

John placed a gentle hand on his elbow, rocking him back into place. "Come on… lets get you on the couch."

John may not have been a part of the upcoming plan but he'd make his mark by making sure he'd be the rock. Sherlock would be leaving tonight… but he'd be well fed and rested and understand that someone cared about him. He'd know he had a friend and ally that would help him no matter how irritating and outlandish he could be.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N Thank you everyone for the wonderful reviews! You guys are the BEST! I am so glad you are all enjoying the adventure! Its been a treat to write! On that note... i apologize for my absence. I wasn't very happy with things... i actually changed a lot. SO i hope you enjoy this next installment.

i figure we have a few more chapters to go! I hope everyone continues to enjoy the ride!

* * *

John actually enjoyed the next few hours. After the week he'd had and the hell he had gone through he was more then happy to welcome the quiet hours… even if it did involve taking care of his friend. He wouldn't have it any other way though and Sherlock was being surprisingly cooperative. John made eggs and sausage for breakfast and couldn't shake the accomplished feeling when Sherlock ate most of everything on his plate and kept it down with no problems. After the dishes were done, John ushered his friend back to the couch. There had been a small empty protest from the dark haired man but John only smiled and plunked him onto the sofa with a blanket and a book.

It took less then ten minutes for Sherlock to dose off.

Sherlock had napped for about an hour as John picked up around the flat and then even took a quick shower. He still had that excited and relieved feeling raging through him. Sherlock was alive! His limp was no longer present and his steps were lighter, like he didn't carry the whole world on his shoulders. He knew that the moment Sherlock left the flat again he'd feel that empty hole once more but it was different this time. He'd know that somewhere just at the edge of town, his best friend would be annoying his brother with his violin playing and late hours.

It was lunchtime now and John guided his friend back to the kitchen table. Just as John handed Sherlock a warm cup of soup, a small knock echoed through the flat.

John and Sherlock looked at each other.

"Its Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock's tone relaxed the Ex-Amy Doctor.

"How…"

"I know the knock."

"Of course…"

John shook his head and headed for the door. He didn't even question Sherlock and opened the door without hesitation. The small quirkily little old woman stood happily in front of him.

"Hello John! How is our young patient today?"

John didn't have a chance to answer when he felt a presence behind him.

"I'm doing just fine Mrs. Hudson."

John turned around to find Sherlock standing behind him. Even with how weak he was, Sherlock still managed to sneak up on him.

"Oh thank goodness you are up and about!" Mrs. Hudson side stepped John and reached for Sherlock's face once again. This time though she took a moment to look him over. Nodding slightly, she grabbed his chin to emphasis her words. "Don't scare me like that again."

"Yes Ma'am."

"Or John… He was a right ol' mess when you left us!"

Sherlock glanced over her head to John who shrugged off her words. John already figured Sherlock knew just how distraught he'd been.

"I promise to do my best." But Sherlock didn't look at Mrs. Hudson when he said it. He looked square at John.

John nodded. It was the best he could do.

"Hey Sherlock. I'm going to help Mrs. Hudson out with her things. I'll be right back."

Sherlock tipped his head in a nod and smiled warmly at the old lady as she patted his cheek again. "Tell your sister we wish her well."

Mrs. Hudson's eyes misted up but she bit it back and pulled Sherlock back into another hug.

"I will Dear… and be good." With that she turned to follow John from the flat.

* * *

John helped Mrs. Hudson into the taxi and placed her bag into the trunk. With his hands in his pants pockets he smiled warmly at her.

"Take care of… things… while I'm gone young man." She took his hand lightly and gave it a small squeeze of reassurance.

"You know I will." John nodded, returning the smile. Mrs. Hudson lowered herself into the taxi cab and waved her goodbyes as she drove off. At least the little old lady wouldn't be involved in any of this. She would be safe and far away. She didn't want to go though. She wanted to stay and mother Sherlock. But John assured her that he'd do enough smothering for the both of them on their way down the stairs. She didn't need to know of their plans. She needed to concentrate on her sister's health.

John waited until the Taxi had turned off of Baker St. before going back toward the door. He did his best to show no emotion on his face while outside. He knew they were being watched. He truly hated the idea of it.

When John returned to the flat he found Sherlock in his bedroom, hovering over a night bag on the chair by his dresser. John waited a few minutes, watching as his friend sluggishly stuffed some necessities in the bag.

"Just need a few things." Sherlock didn't turn to John but knew he was standing there watching.

"I can't believe I'm saying this but… I don't want you to leave again."

Sherlock turned around at John's sad tone.

"It wont be permanent John…"

"I know… yea… of course."

John's tone wasn't all convincing.

"Listen. All this stuff is coming back. I'm not unpacking permanently somewhere else. This is my home. My absence is temporary."

"Right. Well…that's good."

"I'm sorry you had to feel otherwise."

"No… I understand. Its just… it's been a hard week."

"Has it been a week?" Sherlock smirked and placed a hairbrush into the bag.

"Ha ha… yea… maybe two days for you…"

"It wont be long John… Surely we can corner Moriarty if we can get his guard down. If he believes I'm really dead then maybe he'll make a mistake."

John watched as Sherlock made his way into the bathroom to grab some things.

"So that's what we are banking on? Do you believe that he will?"

There was a paused from the dark haired man before he turned around and stopped. He looked from the floor up to John and sighed before continuing forward again.

"I believe it's our only chance."

"That's not what I asked…"

"I know… " Sherlock dumped the stuff in his hands into his bag and ran a white hand through his curls.

"How long do you think we'll have to wait?" John stuffed his hands in his pockets, knowing he was asking a question no one could answer. He couldn't help it though and he was sure Sherlock would remind him of how silly a question it was.

"I can't guess… I honestly don't know."

Sherlock zipped up the bag and bent slightly to lift it up when John crossed the distance between them and snatched it up first. Sherlock wasn't ready to lift things. Even his overnight baggage.

"So… this could be goodbye for a while huh?"

There was no argument on John taking the bag and Sherlock looked straight into the doctor's eyes to answer him.

"Hopefully not. But I'm certain Moriarty will not miss a beat. He'll conduct business as usual and hopefully we can count on his ego to help us corner him somehow."

"We wont be able to talk… I can't visit."

Sherlock huffed and put his hands on Johns shoulders, turning him around and pushing him toward the bedroom door. "Surely you'll go to my second funeral!"

"Sherlock…."

The taller man let John go when they got to the kitchen and shrugged his shoulders.

"What? My dear friend John wouldn't miss it for the world!"

John put the bag down in the nearest chair and plunged himself down into another. This was all the stuff he did NOT want to think about today. He was content enough in knowing that his friend was breathing and doing just fine. He didn't want to think about Moriarty or… well… any of this other crap.

"Ok… ok yes. I'll be there."

"Wonderful!" Sherlock picked up his tone again and sat down slowly across from John. His half eaten lunch was now cold and he pushed the bowl aside. "Then this is not goodbye. Not tonight."

"No… not tonight."

"Good then. Now that we are on a more cheerful wavelength… don't you wanna make cookies or something?"

Confusion littered John Watson's facial features. "You don't eat cookies."

"Who ever said that?" Sherlock leaned a bit forward and folded his hands together.

"Sherlock I've never seen you eat so much as a crumb of sweets since I moved in here."

"That's because you've never baked anything. Now get a move on Doctor Watson. I need a Chocolate Chip cookie to make me feel better."

John shook his head at his friend but the corners of his mouth lifted in a small smile. "You're an ass."

Sherlock smiled back at the insult knowing that it wasn't real and watched as John got up from his chair with a little more vigor, heading for the cabinet. His plan to ease John's mind had worked for now.

Later would be a whole other story.

* * *

The two men dressed as paramedics placed a dark bag on a gurney and unzipped it, opening the edges enough for Sherlock to slip in.

John groaned and looked anywhere but at it.

"Its not real John…" Sherlock had said those very words already but they did little to ease John's anxiousness.

"But it was…"

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock stepped forward and put a hand on John's shoulder.

"No… it wasn't."

"I didn't know that." The doctor looked right into his friends blue eyes and Sherlock could see the strong emotions rolling around in them.

"But you know it now. It's not real. I'll be out of it once we're in the ambulance. Then once we get to Mycroft's I'll even let you burn it."

John turned his head to Mycroft Holmes who stood to the side like a bodyguard. The man blinked dully before speaking. "I'll even supply the match Dr. Watson."

"Ha… ha…" John looked back at Sherlock and nodded that he was fine now and the taller man let go of his shoulder to get back to the task at hand.

"I'll follow behind you?" Lestrade asked as he stood from the arm of the lounge chair.

Mycroft nodded. "Yes… You will be Dr. Watson's ride home."

John and Lestrade looked at each other briefly before going back to the body bag. Sherlock stood over it and looked at it like it was an interesting experiment.

"Well if you are going to go on with this agonizing plan then get it over with."

Sherlock looked back up at John but looked almost like he didn't hear him. "Maybe you should give me a sedative. Moriarty may notice if I become tense in the bag for any reason."

John looked dumbfounded at the Consulting Detective for a moment, not fully believing what he'd just suggested but shook out of it quickly remembering that this was Sherlock.

"You are going way overboard. Get your skinny ass in the bag."

From a few feet away, Mycroft smirked at the doctor's orders. "I quite agree with Dr. Watson."

"Fine."

Sherlock's movements were still slow and unsteady and even though John knew he should probably stick around to help encase his friend needed some to get on the gurney and into the bag, he couldn't handle much more. He turned around and stepped out of the room, leaving the unknown and unnamed paramedics, Lestrade and Mycroft to be there if he needed any. Of course he knew Sherlock would never ask any of them… the stubborn git… But he still refused to be there. He didn't care how childish it was.

Lestrade followed him into the other room a few minutes later and signaled it was time to go.

"I'm not going."

Lestrade stopped mid stride and spun to look at John. He was clearly surprised with the decision.

"What?"

"You heard me. Sherlock's already in the Ambulance right? He can't argue with me. There's no reason for me to go with them."

"John, are you sure?"

"More then sure. Just tell him… tell him I'll talk to him soon and to… ya know… just be careful?"

Lestrade still looked a bit stunned but he nodded at John and left the room quietly.

Dr. John Watson walked himself back into the other room in a daze. Everyone was gone now… Sherlock was gone. John dropped himself onto the couch and rubbed his eyes with his shaking hands.

He knew Sherlock would be more then miffed with him for breaking the plan. But in all honesty there was no good reason why he should go with them. If Moriarty were watching he couldn't see a reason why it would be odd that he didn't go with Mycroft Holmes.

And right now he didn't really care.

John didn't want to say goodbye again. It was better this way… for both of them.

* * *

It had been two days since Sherlock left the flat… left his friend John all alone again. The Doctor hadn't heard anything from the Holmes family or even Lestrade. The gag order was securely in place.

John had gone to work… he'd had a lunch date with Sarah who couldn't help but continuously held his hand in support. Poor Sarah. If she had known Sherlock was still alive she would probably be pretty mad that she was being duped. But John was grateful for her concern and her company.

Things were turning out just the same as before Sherlock had turned up after his "Funeral."

Bland… quiet… lonely.

Bits of ham had just finished warming on the stove when a ringing filled his ears. His cell phone was in his pocket and it certainly wasn't ringing. They had no land phone and he'd never heard Mrs. Hudson's' phone ring before.

Turning the stove off, John turned in the direction of the faint ring. He crossed the kitchen and headed for Sherlock's closed bedroom door and let himself in.

John flicked the light on and let his eyes adjust briefly before following the sound straight to the tall old oak dresser in the corner.

It wasn't coming from inside though. Thank goodness… the last thing he wanted to do was go through Sherlock's clothes

John peeked around the corner and sure enough, there, wedged between the wall and the dresser was a buzzing light.

John leaned down and stuffed his hand in, pulling out a simple cell phone. It had stopped ringing in his attempt to reach it but the ex army doctor jumped where he stood when it started up again. The number on the display was not one he recognized but his curiosity got the better of him and he flipped open the phone.

"Uh… Hello?

"Finally! I called 4 times in a row! Did you not hear it? Are you watching those crappy stories of Mrs. Hudson's?"

John brought the phone back in front of him and looked at it in confusion. He brought it back up to his ear quickly. "Sher…."

"NO! No no… don't say my name."

"But I thought the house wasn't bugged?" John moved to sit himself down into the chair along side the dresser.

"Its not... "

The doctor shook his head. "Ok… why do you have a cell phone hidden behind your dresser?"

"Encase of emergencies I always have one charged and ready. No one has the number." Sherlock's voice sounded bored already at having to answer a question he obviously felt was obvious.

"That's awfully paranoid of you…"

Sherlock huffed on the other line. "No… Not paranoid… prepared."

"Whatever you want to call it." John shrugged even though he knew Sherlock couldn't see it.

For a moment there was silence. Neither man said anything and John was the first to clear his throat.

"Can I help you with something?"

"Not really… Just wanted you to find the phone. Your phone may be tapped… this one isn't. Now we can chat with one another."

John lifted his eyebrows.

"Chat? What are we going to chat about?

"Anything… " There was that dull tone again.

"Other then cases… do we usually chat about much together?" John leaned forward in the chair and put his elbows on his knees waiting for an answer.

Sherlock sounded a bit stumped. "Well… I guess not… but now we can start."

His answer provided another silent pause and John rolled his eyes.

"Ok… well... if you don't have anything to sa…"

"Why didn't you come the other night?"

John figured this question would have been the first thing asked. He'd actually expected it right away. He was momentarily surprised at Sherlock's ability to be patient.

"You didn't need me. It wouldn't have made much difference if I came or not."

Sherlock knew John was right. But John coming along to Mycroft's that night truly had nothing to do with the whole plan.

"I always need you."

John closed his eyes and took in his friend's words. It may have been just what the doctor needed to hear. Sherlock was never needy on anyone but maybe… just maybe his friend truly did trust him enough to let his guard down a bit on occasion. Maybe he knew now that John would always cover his back when he did.

"Apparently you pulled everything off just fine without me."

"It did run smoothly." Sherlock paused a moment before continuing. "I was looking forward to talking to you when I got there. So I had to find another way."

"What did you want to talk about?"

"I just wanted to make sure you'd be alright while I was away. But I see you've been keeping busy."

"I'm not even going to ask how."

"You do know my brother John. How is Sarah doing by the way?"

"She's fine. She's tried to cheer me up and I feel guilty about it."

"I wouldn't expect you not to."

"Yea… well… sometimes I wish she knew." John ran a hand over his face, pressing into his eyes with the heel of his hands to release the pressure in his head.

"You trust her right? Maybe we can let her in on it."

"No no… I'd rather her not know. It keeps her safe."

Sherlock waited a moment giving John a chance to change his mind before continuing. "You are right. But John, if you wanted her to know I'd be ok with it. Anything to help you out."

"Thanks…" Sherlock's offer wasn't normal for the consulting detective. It was selfless and hardly ideal to tell Sarah their secret. But the man had offered, knowing that it would help out John… even if it was just a tiny bit.

John couldn't have thanked him enough for the suggestion.

"So what are you making for dinner? Sherlock actually felt interested.

"How did you know I was making dinner?

"The amount of time it took for you to answer and the distance and…"

"Ok nevermind…" John smiled for the first time in days and leaned back again in the chair, relaxing more and more as they talked.

"You asked… well? What are you having?"

"Oh… um… ham. Warmed some up on the stove"

John breathed in, smelling the ham that was now getting cold on the stove in the next room.

"I could really go for some Chinese from the place down the street." John chuckled lightly. Sherlock actually sounded like a whiney teenager.

"Why don't you have Mycroft's people get you some?"

A sigh reached John's ears.

"Cant… He's not here."

"Well why aren't you calling him then?"

Sherlock snorted.

"I don't call Mycroft. Besides, I'm babysitting."

For a second John thought maybe he'd heard wrong.

"You… what?"

"Babysitting… " Sherlock heard an odd noise on the other end and scowled. "Are you laughing?"

"No no…." John worked hard to control himself, biting his lip to stop a giggle from coming out. It was no use though and he let out another short laugh. "Ok yes… its just… odd! I can't picture it!

Sherlock didn't have a chance to rebut when a tiny voice filtered through the phone into John's ear.

"Uncle Sherlock! It's coming on! Hurry!"

"What's that Lexie…?"

"SpongeBob!"

"What?"

"SpongeBob Square pants!" The little girl put her hands on her hips in annoyance and her tone echoed through into John's ears. He couldn't help but laugh again.

"Square… What?"

"Don't tell me you've never heard of SpongeBob Square pants? Not even once…?" John's giggles returned.

"I didn't think my lack of information on pop culture shocked you anymore John."

"I still don't get it."

"Uncle Sherlock!"

"Alexia I'm on the phone dear. Please go watch on your own."

"Pleaaaseee! Daddy always watches with me!"

Sherlock snorted and John could almost see his eyes twinkle at the new blackmail information.

"John… who is this SpongeBob Square pants?"

The doctor smiled wide, eager to enjoy this conversation now.

"Well… he lives in a pineapple under the sea…"

"Well that's highly unlikely."

"Why?"

"There are no pineapples in the ocean John. This is going to be quiet unnerving."

John shook his head lightheartedly. "You'll be fine. Think outside the box for once."

Sherlock actually laughed at John's words.

"Uncle Sherlock… Why are you making the poor girl wait?"

"Wow…" John mouthed at the new voice.

"I'm coming Harold…"

"Did Mycroft Rapidly drop in age?" John's jaw was still dropped in shock. He'd seen the little boy at Sherlock's "Funeral" but did not hear him talk. He would have never known how similar to his father he really was.

"He is a mirror image, John."

"Two Mycroft's…"

"Horrifying."

Both men laughed slightly followed by a silent moment that was soon shattered by Sherlock and in a more serious tone then before.

"Look John… I know its best that I'm not there… for you… for me… but…"

"Yea yea I miss you too… sorta. I've been sleeping like a baby though."

"Well we must fix that." John could hear the smile on the other mans face.

"Ha… yea. I suppose. We have a plan right?"

"Of course. We'll catch up soon."

"Uncle Sherlockkkkk!" The little voice sounded almost angry.

"I'm being summoned."

"Better hurry."

"Goodbye John."

And then with a loud click the cell phone went silent and John Watson went back to his cooling ham and a night on the couch.

* * *

John's heart and body felt lighter after speaking to Sherlock the night before. He'd gone to work with an extra spring in his step and smiled warmly at the people in the waiting room. He'd hugged Sarah tightly in greeting and she had hugged back just as strong, obviously thankful that John was in better spirits.

The day had gone by faster because of his good mood. His coffee had tasted better and the air even seemed sweeter. It was amazing how great he'd felt today after talking to his friend.

John didn't have many friends anymore. He'd lost many in war and when he came back things just weren't the same with his old friends. He'd lost touch with all of them. No one seemed to understand what he was going through… and they didn't even try.

Sherlock understood. Sure he never served in a war… but he knew the feeling and its effects. Sherlock knew John at times more then he knew himself.

He'd helped to pick him back up and set him on his feet firmly.

Somehow they just meshed well together as friends. They understood each other and that spoke volumes.

John was thankful for that…

So the plan for the night was simple. Dinner at home with a book and maybe... hopefully… a phone call from Sherlock to talk about absolutely nothing at all. Tomorrow was Saturday… his day off. He'd already planned a lunch date with Sarah and maybe even a movie.

Things were far from normal. But John Watson was pretty sure that this was just the way he'd prefer it.

John was so busy in his own mind to notice the sudden chill in the air as he walked home from the clinic. He'd been too wrapped up in thought to see the change in atmosphere… too distracted to react accordingly.

His guard had been completely down.

John turned a corner, still walking along seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world.

It wasn't until he felt hands go around his shoulders and pull him back hard that he realized his mistake.

John was a great fighter when he had to be… but with his lack of attention, his reflexes were slower then normal and his adrenaline didn't have a chance to kick into high gear before a cloth covered his nose and mouth roughly.

Doctor John Watson knew immediately what the strong smell was as his reflexes slowed. He couldn't help but breath in the sickening odor.

There was no time to be mad or even embarrassed that someone got the drop on him as he slid down to the cold pavement.

His body went limp before it hit the ground.


	8. Chapter 8

a/n Hello everyone! Happy April! I'm so very excited to finally get some nice weather. I need some sun!

I dug deep into this last night with a Muse Concert on... I'm pretty happy with where its going. I'm expecting two more chapters.

Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Steph

* * *

Dull…

Dull dull dull and duller…

Sherlock's day could be summed up quickly with just that one word.

It was hard enough not being able to go where he pleased when he damn well wanted to. But to make matters worse he was stuck in Mycroft's boring mausoleum-like house for god knows how long.

His niece and nephew were sent back to their boarding school this morning as previously planned for their weekly instruction and Mycroft's hired help had been given a few days off to mask Sherlock's presence.

And his brother was busy with the country.

He'd been left by himself… alone to his own devices. It was a very dangerous situation…

And unfortunately he was still too weak to take advantage of it.

Sherlock had smirked at the news though. First he'd planned to make sure he made an ungodly mess in Mycroft's own personal bathroom and even leave worn clothes all over the furniture. He knew his brother…. He couldn't stand mess or clutter. He'd end up cleaning it up himself and Sherlock couldn't wait to watch as his brother seethed and muttered inappropriate language to himself.

Unfortunately he just couldn't muster up the energy to bother. He just wanted to go back to his Flat… back to his own space and his friend.

But the Consulting Detective wouldn't leave and Mycroft knew it. Otherwise he'd have never left his little bother alone.

It was safer this way… more for John then anyone.

So the dark haired man sat in the library, going through books he'd already read to pass the time.

Boring…

It was 7:30 in the evening when Sherlock plopped down a dusty old copy of some obvious Murder/Mystery novel, when a ringing sound reached his ear.

Sherlock pulled himself to his feet to pad into the next room for the untraceable cell phone his brother had given him. He'd been doing a lot better today. Walking was now about as easy as it should have been as long as he didn't overdo it. The only struggle he still encountered was the stairs. But that would come back quick too… he just needed to find some patience. Which for Sherlock Holmes, was easier said then done.

Making it just in time before the phone stopped ringing, Sherlock hit a button and lifted it to his ear. The PRIVATE on the ID could only be one person.

"Mycroft…"

"I bloody well hope you haven't destroyed my house today little brother."

Sherlock huffed. "I'm getting to it… What do you want?"

"Just checking in." Mycroft sighed over the line. "Also I have to work late tonight so I hope you can prepare yourself some dinner on your own."

"I'm sure I can manage. Am I still too young to use the stove while no one is home? Or should I use the microwave?" Sherlock actually smiled at his own words. He was enjoying the friendly banter with his brother lately. It had been a long time since he even WANTED to talk to his brother.

"Very funny. Though I'd rather you stayed away from the stove regardless of your age."

Sherlock ignored Mycroft's comment. "So what top secret project are you forced to work late on tonight? Or are you avoiding my company…"

"Actually Sherlock… you may find this ridiculous but I'd very much like to spend time with you… after… all of this. But someone has to run the country."

Mycroft's voice had a hint of exhaustion. The man worked and worried too hard. "But of course… how silly of me."

"Anyways… I will let you return to whatever you were preoccupying your time with… besides… isn't it time to call Doctor Watson?"

Sherlock smirked. "Why yes… I think it's about that time now."

"Sherlock… be careful. We are going through with this insane plan because it's supposed to keep you both safe. One slip and its all for naught."

The sigh on the other end did not go unnoticed by the older Holmes.

"I understand the risks brothers."

"Good… Now go make your phone call. If you need me you know the number."

"I wont need you. Don't worry."

Mycroft didn't take his little brothers words seriously. There had been no power behind his smart ass comments since he'd… "Came back". But Mycroft Holmes was still glad that he tried.

"Stay away from the stove! A Sandwich will suffice. "

"Bye Mycroft."

And with that the call was disconnected.

Sherlock ran a hand over his tired face as he came down from the phone call. Being reminded about how dangerous things were right now made him anxious. It would have been different if he could just act when he wanted to. Moriarty was a mentally ill and frightening man but Sherlock could handle that. The Consulting Detective was more scared of his own weaknesses.

He didn't mention it to anyone else… even John… But Sherlock knew the reason behind this "Fake Death" game. James Moriarty wanted Sherlock weak. He'd expected John to figure things out… He planned on Sherlock coming out of it. And his prolonged weakness would be perfect for whatever Moriarty had planned. This deduction was the reason why Sherlock wanted to hide himself. He didn't want John in harms way with him too weakened to do anything about it.

He was absolutely sure that Moriarty had that in mind. He was counting on it. It was all part of his game.

Sherlock shook his head to rid his always-working mind to slow down. It was time to call John and he'd much rather it be upbeat. His long pale fingers ran over the buttons on the phone without hesitation.

The phone started ringing and Sherlock waited anxiously. His leg bounced up and down impatiently. After 7 rings the phone beeped for a voicemail. Sherlock winced slightly at his aching muscles as he hoisted himself to his feet. Now pacing, he called the number again.

Again it went to voicemail.

He tried again…

Then again…

Nothing.

"Damn it John." He muttered.

Something was wrong. John should be answering. He should be home from work by now and knowing how responsible his friend was, he'd make sure the phone was with him and charged.

Every detail and piece of information he knew about John and his habits screamed that something wasn't right.

Something he'd been worried about… deep down…

Moriarty.

Sherlock covered his mouth with his hand, taping his long fingers on his frowning lips as he looked about the empty room.

There was only one thing he could do now. He closed his blue eyes and inhaled deeply, holding it briefly as he let his mind map out his next course of action.

Sherlock blew out the held breath through his teeth and popped opened his eyes as he forced his legs to move.

There was no other way.

John needed him.

The Consulting Detective grabbed his coat and scarf and bundled up on the fly as he moved toward the door and the keys that hung on the peg next to it. Mycroft wouldn't miss one of his precious cars.

And frankly… he didn't give a damn.

* * *

Sarah had just settled onto the couch for her evening programs when a heavy knock echoed in the flat.

The tired woman groaned and pulled herself from the comfy cushions. Who would be bothering her right now? She knew John was going home for the night to relax as she had been trying to do. She wasn't expecting a package or a Jehovah's Witness tonight. With her luck it would be the kids down the hall playing a joke and getting her up off the warm spot on the sofa for nothing.

But after leaning to look into the peephole on the door, her jaw dropped in surprise… and then her eyebrows creased in severe annoyance. Suddenly she wished it were the kids down the hallway.

Sarah pulled the chain off the door and unlatched the lock. She yanked the door open and stared up at the face of Sherlock Holmes… the… uh… Dead… Sherlock Holmes.

"I knew it…" She grumbled.

Sherlock smirked and stepped forward without an invitation into Sarah's flat. The small woman moved to allow it and closed the door behind him. Then she turned back toward her living room, leaving the dark haired man standing in the hallway still smirking slightly.

"That's because you are a very intuitive and observant woman. I am impressed." Sarah's lack of reaction to his sudden appearance gave Sherlock all he needed as far as information. She picked up on something in John's mood to clue her in. John wasn't a great actor.

Sherlock walked over to stand in front of the TV that Sarah so desperately wanted to enjoy… alone.

"So he lied to me? I've been so stressed out and worried for that man and he lie to me about the whole thing?" The tired woman couldn't help the disappointed sound in her voice. She thought they had something going together… how can she trust him if he already started lying to her.

"With good reason…" Sherlock's tone was hollow and Sarah's face scrunched up.

"Good reason? It better be a GREAT reason!"

Sherlock didn't hide the roll of his eyes.

"For your safety… he wanted to tell you but chose not to. It was for your own protection."

Sarah looked sideways at the bundled up man in front of her… Sherlock hadn't taken his scarf off much less his coat. He obviously hadn't planned on staying. But there was something else about him… something dark and haunted. Worry… and sickness? No… she see's sickness all the time. This is harder… deeper.

"So did you have to fake your death to keep out of reach of some bad guy?"

"Yes and no." Sherlock sighed and walked a couple steps over to rest on the arm of the couch. He was now facing the muted TV and he looked down at his gloved fingers for a moment of thought.

That's when Sarah saw it…

Weariness.

It coated him. It was starting to affect her as well. What ever this man had gone through it was taking its toll on him now. She had a feeling it wasn't something that happened to him often.

"Explain."

Sherlock turned his head to her, locking his piercing blue eyes on her own. The once cold and emotionless Sherlock Holmes now had worry etched in his features. It did not suit him.

"I was drugged. It's complicated. I didn't die but I might as well have… for everyone around me I was. John didn't initially lie to you. But for the last 5 day's he's kept up with it. So yes… I suppose he DID lie eventually."

Sarah closed her eyes and shook her head as she took in Sherlock's words. She could understand now. John was protecting her from something.

"Why are you here?"

"Looking for John…" Sherlock looked at her… his eyes almost looked… Pleading? Like he hoped she had some sort of perfect answer to fix everything.

"Why…"

Sherlock didn't answer and looked away… back at his hands.

"He's in trouble isn't he…"

It wasn't a question.

"I'll get him back." Sherlock's voice was strong this time and he stood up from the arm of the chair with confidence.

"You better."

Sherlock looked at the strong woman next to him and actually gave a small smile. "I see why John keeps you around. I get it now."

"Funny… I don't see why he keeps YOU around… this is… what? His third kidnapping?"

Sherlock actually flinched. He wasn't on his game and sadly… didn't hide it.

"If John contacts you… "

Sarah stood as well and crossed her arms. "I'll let you know."

Sherlock walked toward the door but stopped at the small table by it and dropped a post-it note on it. "Number…"

Sarah nodded and Sherlock turned the knob and pulled the heavy wood door open.

"Hey… Sherlock…"

Those blue eyes turned on her again and she swallowed thickly. "Sherlock don't fool with me. You knew he wasn't here when you knocked on that door."

Sherlock considered her words for a moment and then gave her a short nod. Yes... he did know John wasn't there.

Sarah closed her eyes as she took everything in. She was starting to feel bad for the tall thin man in front of her. It was clear he came here tonight because he needed to connect somehow. Well… then she had something to say.

"John wasn't… John anymore. I knew right away that something had changed the last few days... he was himself again. Yea he was guarded but…now I know why. I don't know what it is with you two but you seem to bring out of John what he'd normally hide from. And that's a good thing…. So… don't let him down again."

Sherlock didn't answer but for a moment she thought she saw his eyes twinkle at her words. He nodded and let himself out… leaving Sarah finally alone with her televisions and no interest in watching it.

* * *

Lestrade hated late night calls telling him there was another murder. It cut up more and more of his faith in humanity and pulling himself out of bed to pick up the mess was getting hard and harder.

The call came in about an hour ago. A woman was found in a garbage can by a tenant in the apartment building. Now why couldn't this tenant bring out the trash at a reasonable hour? It was almost midnight now… who needed to take out the trash that badly?

Lestrade grumbled as he lifted up the yellow caution tape, juggling a couple coffees as he walked up to Sally Donovan. Her hand was moving fast as she wrote down all the new information she had just gotten. Her eyes twitched up as she saw him approach her.

"What do we got Donovan?" Lestrade looked over at the sheet-covered body and winced inwardly as he handed Donovan one of the warm cups. The only thing visible was the poor woman's pale face.

"Looks like she was strangled sir. We're waiting on the ME to give us an idea of time of death."

"Is Anderson on tonight?" He wasn't very fond of the man but he was pretty good and quick at his job. He would love to get home sometime before dawn.

"Not tonight…" And she left it at that.

Lestrade nodded. "ID yet?"

"No ID on her but the neighbor identified her on scene as Mary Weston. Lives in the 3rd floor flat with her fiancé Tom. We're still waiting on a last name for Tom."

"Where is Tom?"

"Apparently he's out of town according to a neighbor. " Sally pointed to the left with her pen at a middle-aged woman talking with another officer. "Left yesterday early morning. We're going to look into it."

"Good…"

Lestrade looked down at the blond woman and sighed with exasperation. He really disliked all of this. But it was his job and he'd see it through. The worst was alerting next of kin.

"I need contact information of any family…

Lestrade was mid sentence when he watched Sally's eyes divert from his face and widen. He was glad he was standing a few feet away from her when the coffee she'd just been sipping spewed in a mist from her mouth in shock.

"What the bloody hell…" Lestrade stepped back to avoid the liquid.

Sally Donovan stood stock-still, staring at something over his shoulder with such force that Lestrade spun around quickly on his heels to come face to face with Sherlock Holmes.

"What the hell Sherlock!"

The tall dark haired man ignored the surprise in the two officers. He only looked at Lestrade with the cold hard glare of his blue eyes.

"We have to go…"

Lestrade sighed but didn't let himself relax. Sherlock was supposed to be in hiding. If he wasn't then something very important pulled him out. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what.

"Go? Go where? Sherlock I'm in the middle of a crime scene here!" Lestrade leaned in a bit … "and you're not suppose to be here…"

Sally dropped her shocked look and adopted a confused one. She looked at the Inspector suspiciously at his lack of surprise at seeing the dead? Sherlock Holmes. She glanced around at the other officers who were taking interest at the sudden appearance of a dead man at their crime scene.

"Johns Missing…"

And there it was. The Good Reason… The "something important."

"He's… what?"

Finally Sherlock pulled out of his stone glare only to replace it with severe annoyance. "Missing! Must I have to repeat myself?"

Sally jumped a little at Sherlock's sudden outburst. Lestrade put his hands up in a silent surrender from the pale man's wrath.

"Ok…. Ok… How do you know he's missing?"

"He's not answering his phone." Sherlock squeezed the cell phone in his pocket as he spoke, silently willing it to ring.

"Sherlock… its midnight. He's probably sleeping!"

"No… he'd still answer…. And besides, I already checked the flat."

"What about with Sarah?"

"Checked there too…"

"Work late?"

Sherlock's face went rageful at the continuous questions with no action and Lestrade sighed.

"Look... I have an active crime scene… I can't walk away. Besides... I'm sure he's fine."

Sherlock didn't break eye contact with the Detective Inspector. The stare was almost uncomfortable. "Do you really believe that?"

Lestrade looked up into the sky and blew out a puff of air. "No…"

"Well… then…" Sherlock tipped his body sideways signaling that they should get going.

"It still doesn't help the fact that I'm needed here. Since when have you ever needed me anyways?"

Sherlock's face softened just a bit. It was hard for him to admit he needed help… but for the time being he'd have to suck it up. He truly needed some. "I'm not 100% even if I argue I'm fine. I hate admitting it but this is the work of Moriarty and I'm in no shape to take him down alone. And… if John's hurt… " Sherlock trailed off and stared off. Eyes darting around the crime scene a bit and then returned to Lestrade

Lestrade knew how hard it was for Sherlock to say those words out loud. He didn't press it any further. "So you think its Moriarty."

"Not think… know."

"Ok… why would he take John? Doesn't he believe your still dead?"

"Well if he did the secrets out now. " Donovan interjected but Sherlock ignored her as usual.

"I believe he took him on the street. John is prone to walks. I need to see traffic cams."

Lestrade looked confused. "Do you really think Moriarty would slip up enough to let a camera see him? And cant your brother get you this information?"

Sherlock gave him a piercing glare but didn't answer the last question. "I need to see the tapes"

Lestrade paused and looked around the crime scene. He couldn't leave… he wanted to help so badly but it just wasn't right for the boss to walk off.

Sherlock clearly saw the indecision in the other mans face and groaned openly.

"Fine…" The taller man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his magnifying glass, pulled his gloves off a swift finger at a time and walked over to the woman's body. Donovan followed, clearly not wanting to miss this. Sherlock moved slower then his normal speed and had a hard time crouching down when looking at the woman's neck through his glass. His eyes lifted to the dumpster, the balconies above, the distance to the street and the neighbor still giving a statement. His eyes lingered longer on the elderly neighbor before he turned back to Lestrade, pulling his gloves back on and shaking his head.

"No forced entry I assume."

"No…"

"Fiancé's out of town?"

This time Donovan answered.

"Yea… just received his full name and information. No answer on his cell. We're checking hotel's… his background…"

"No need. The neighbor did it."

"What?" Both Donovan and Lestrade said the word in unison.

"The murder weapon is a belt." Lestrade turned to look at the neighbor and caught a brown leather belt around he man's waist. "You'll find evidence on it."

"But... why?"

"Boyfriends out of town… the neighbor lives in the 4th floor flat. He's been watching her from above." Sherlock pointed up to the iron balconies above. "The victim comes out a lot to drink her coffee and he watches her from above. This isn't his first kill. I bet you'll find more then her DNA on that belt. Older… possibly 10-15 years ago. Open old cases involving strangulation while the boyfriend or husband is away. The neighbor always talks to the police… tries to help. I bet he even called in the body. You've got yourself a serial killer."

"How do you know…?"

"He's a good liar but his body language deceives him. Look we can go over It more after we find John. I promise I'll even help go through the old case files."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock for a moment. The man was actually desperate to find his friend that he would submit to the boring monotonous job of going through files.

"Donovan… the scene is yours. I have my cell."

"Yes sir."

"Well… let's go…"

Sherlock didn't need to be told twice and turned his thin, tall frame to lead the way to the car.

* * *

The smell hit him first. It was a rancid smell of charred plastic and chlorine. It stung the inside of his nose and made him sick to his stomach almost instantly. Finally he blinked his eyes open. His head swam with the overload of his senses and the still lingering effects of the chloroform. When his vision cleared enough, he lifted his head slightly. The sight that greeted him caused a choked gasp escape his throat.

"Oh! Look whose finally awake!"

The dazed man looked up at the figure looming over him and groaned openly as he recognized the blurry face above.

"My Dear Watson…" The blur snarled. "Welcome Back… to hell."


	9. Chapter 9

Hey guys! Long time no see… Sorry about that. First I wanted to talk a bit about last chapter. A few people mentioned that I wrote Sherlock out of character. Well… yes I did. I did it on purpose and there is a reason. Hopefully a part in this chapter will explain why he's not his usual self. I kinda thought it would be easy to spot as to a reason why. I put a few clues in about the change like Sarah's inward description of Sherlock in her apartment or his outburst at the crime scene that made Donovan jump. All not normal Sherlock.

Like they say... it's how the story goes lol

Anyways…

I'm sorry for the delay. I was a bit stuck and then lost interest with everything going on in my life. I hope I didn't lose anyone. Thank you for going on this Journey with me with my first Sherlock Fanfic. And I can't wait for the new season!

Steph

* * *

John growled in disgust at the sight that greeted him. As his vision started to clear, a piercing glare would have pinned him down if he hadn't already been tied up.

"You took an awfully long time to wake up Dr. Watson. Not sleeping well?"

John groaned loudly, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the image of their friendly neighborhood psychopath. How did he get here? Oh right… someone grabbed him on the street when he wasn't on his guard. 'Great job John.' He berated himself in his head.

"Johnny…"

The Ex-Army Doctor tried to ignore Moriarty's voice. He kept his eyes closed to try and ease the throbbing pain in his skull. He let himself feel the rest of his body, taking in any other painful area or possible injured part. His hands were tied tightly behind the wooden chair he sat in. His legs were free but useless as the sedative still coursed through him. He could still taste it in his mouth and didn't fight the urge to try and spit it out.

A 'Snap' of fingers brought John's attention back to the crazy guy in a suit. He sat in another chair, leaning toward John. His head was turned sideways as he held a curious glare.

"You are a mess my dear Watson."

"Screw off." John's words came out raspy from lack of use and he grimaced slightly from the raw scratch it sent down his throat. John spat again to the side and made a face at the taste that wouldn't go away.

Moriarty didn't respond right away. He leaned back into his own chair with a Cheshire cat-like grin growing on his face. And just as quickly as it had formed, the smile melted and returned to a glowering scowl.

"I expected more from you John... I'm very disappointed."

John rolled his eyes but regretted it instantly as a sharp pain bolted through his brain. He couldn't help the hiss that escaped his body. Now he was taking to him like a father who caught his son sneaking in after curfew. "I don't give a rat's ass what you expect from me."

"Oh… but you will."

Moriarty voice and expression were stone cold. John just started at him, hoping his features wouldn't give off any sort of weakness. It was just what Moriarty was looking for.

"I'm going to make you pay for your failure John."

"My failure?" A laugh escaped his lips before he could help it. "It was your messed up mind that screwed it up for you." John's words were calm and straight forward but he knew it was enough to make the other man's blood boil. Therefore he wasn't completely surprised at what happened next.

Moriarty stood up with cat like speed and grabbed John's chin, forcing him to look up uncomfortably. Pain shot from his shoulders up the back of his neck from the swift movement.

"No! It was your fault and yours alone! I gave you all the proper information! It is not my fault you didn't use it wisely!"

John yanked his head out of Jim's cold hand, looking away from the angry face above him and trying not to show just how much that had hurt him. God he felt so helpless. "If you'd have just left us alone there wouldn't be a problem at all!" John could feel his cheeks turning red with anger and the effort to keep the pain off of his face. He was trying to stay calm but he just couldn't help it. Pain made you do drastic things.

"Well then what fun would that have been? Really John… what are you thinking?"

John Watson heard the changed tone in the madman's voice and looked back up again to see a calm smile. The scariest part about this situation wasn't the obvious reasons. It was the frightening jump of emotion from Jim Moriarty. He was hot and cold… Jekyll and Hyde. He'd have to work harder to stay calm and play things smoothly. Moriarty was riding a thin line. He didn't want him stepping too far over it.

"Silly me." John added in a low calm tone.

Moriarty stepped away and rubbed his chin in thought as he started to pace about the musty room. John followed him with his eyes. Even in this dirty environment the other man's suit looked cleaned and freshly pressed. Of course…

"So what do you think would be a more appropriate punishment? I've already strapped a bomb on you... Torture perhaps? That's always fun!"

John didn't say anything. He didn't want to give a reaction. He just watched the thoughts run through the well-dressed man's head. It was exhausting to keep up.

"No? Something else then… something more fun." Moriarty stopped a moment and after a few silent seconds he threw his hands in the air as if to say 'Eureka'. "I've got it... Maybe I should just frame you for a murder. Taint your name. Make you watch ME do it!" Moriarty hopped in place and clapped his hands like an excited child. "There it is! The perfect punishment!"

John didn't continue to follow the mad man in front of him with his eyes. He just stared forward, a pang of panic rushed through his veins causing his heart to beat hard in his chest. He knew Sherlock would figure out he was missing… but when? Would Moriarty actually have time to kill another innocent human being before Sherlock could find him? That scary thought alone caused his fear. The madman was right… This would be the worst torture he could do to him. No one should die because of John Watson. He just couldn't be the cause.

"I better go pick out the perfect target." Moriarty patted John on the shoulder. "In the meantime..." The wild-eyed man spun on his heels and turned toward the door. "Why don't you just relax?" And with that, Moriarty switched the lights off, plunging the dank room into darkness. A maddening laugh echoed off the tiled walls as the door shut behind him, leaving John alone with his thoughts… in pitch darkness.

* * *

Sherlock and Lestrade rode in silence back to Scotland Yard. The Detective Inspector was at the wheel as they went down the quiet city streets. Lestrade kept glancing over at the thin man next to him. He hadn't said a word since they got in the car. Sherlock's fingers skimmed madly over his cell phone, surfing certain facts, places, and anything else he could come up with that may help them find John. It was his original cell phone and Lestrade noted how excited he was as he pulled it from his inner coat pocket and turned it on. There was no sense hiding any longer and Sherlock hated the piece of crap flip phone he had been given.

Lestrade was use to Sherlock getting into long moments of silence when he was thinking deeply but right now, as he drove Mycroft's expensive car through the streets of London, he wanted some answers. His fingers tapped on the wheel as he drove on. He couldn't take the silence much longer.

"So… what do we have?"

Sherlock didn't answer, his fingers still worked hard on the phone keys.

"Sherlock…" he tried again.

"Hmm…"

"Find anything?"

"No."

"Oh."

The car was plunged into quiet again accept for the click of phone buttons. Lestrade shook his head. One word answers weren't going to do.

"Where do you think he took John?"

Lestrade was greeted with more clicking as Sherlock paused a moment, reading something on the screen of his phone.

"Somewhere obvious." He said finally.

"Does that mean you know where?"

"No."

Lestrade turned forward again and huffed.

"Well you are extremely helpful."

Sherlock didn't respond and the Detective Inspector didn't expect him to.

"So do you think he knows you're alive and took John to flush you out?"

"No."

The man sighed in frustration and gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. What was the point of being there to help when he had nothing to go on?

"Ok well what then? Speak up damn it! I'm here to help you and I don't even know where to start!"

Sherlock finally looked up from his phone at Lestrade's irritated tone.

"You are helping. Just keep driving."

"Great… now I'm a freakin taxi." Lestrade mumbled.

Sherlock finally put the phone down and sighed loudly, turning to the man behind the wheel.

"What would you like to know? I'm not certain of anything right now so what good would it do for me to give you false information."

"I would be happy with anything right now Sherlock. Help me help you." Lestrade put the right blinker on and turned. They were getting closer to Scotland Yard.

"No I don't think he knows I'm alive. He would have made it quite clear if he did. I think he took John out of anger. This is the mistake we've been waiting for."

"So kidnapping John was the moment we wanted?" Lestrade shook his head. "What a sick turn of events." He mumbled.

"It's unfortunate but it's our chance."

"I'm sure John is thinking differently about the situation."

Sherlock stopped talking and looked straight ahead down the narrow streets. Lestrade could see the twinkle of something in the corner of his eye for a moment and then as fast as it came, it was gone again. The hard stone stare was back in place. What that panic he saw? No… Not on Sherlock Holmes. Couldn't be.

"I want to see video of John's route home from work. It will answer a few important questions."

"Are you sure there will be anything on it?"

"There will hopefully be answers."

Lestrade didn't even bother asking for him to elaborate. He knew he wouldn't get anywhere. Sherlock didn't give answers unless he wanted to.

"Fine."

The Detective Inspector pulled into the lot to the Yard and parked the car with ease.

"Well then let's go."

Both men threw open their car door to exit. Lestrade was about 5 feet ahead when he noticed Sherlock was still at the car door. He hadn't heard it shut. Turning he found the younger man grasping the doorframe tightly, his eyes shut. Lestrade could see the hunch of his back as Sherlock wasn't standing to his full height.

"What's wrong…?"

Sherlock's eyes popped open and he looked around before backing up slowly and shutting the car door. He straightened himself up slowly and inhaled deeply before walking slowly but confidently in Lestrade's direction.

"Nothing. Let's get a move on."

Lestrade watched as Sherlock walked ahead toward the station doors and shook his head. Sherlock was right when he told him earlier he wasn't 100%. This was too much too soon for the dark haired man. He just hoped he could handle anything that came next. This situation would most likely get worse before it got better.

He was sure of that.

* * *

To say he was uncomfortable was an understatement. His hands were tied behind his back so tightly that every once in a while his fingers would tingle from poor circulation. His head was still throbbing behind his eyes from the drug and his back and shoulders ached.

At least he was left alone for now. He didn't even mind being in pitch darkness. It certainly helped his headache. Maybe Moriarty thought that was some way to weaken him but the madman must have forgotten that John was a soldier. He'd been in worse situations then this. Darkness didn't frighten him in the least. There was no reason to be scared of the dark… only at what is in it. And since the room had one door, he felt safe for now.

The idea of what Jim Moriarty was doing behind the door though was what scared him to the core. He knew what the man was capable of and the last thing John wanted was for someone else to get hurt or killed because of the three of them. John took a deep breath and shifted in his bounds. It was all up to Sherlock now. There was nothing he could do from here. Talking to Moriarty wasn't an option. His crazy mind was dangerous.

Since he couldn't see he tried instead to use his other sense to figure out where he could be. He could hear dripping noises somewhere close by. That could be any leaky pipe in the London Area. No help there. What did help was his nose. There was an unmistakable burnt smell accompanied with a very strong chemical smell. John knew it right away. It certainly narrowed down his options… But really? Here?

John was pulled from his thoughts when the door opened and the light was switched back on. John slammed his eyes shut and grimaced at the pain the sudden light caused his eyes and raging headache.

"Aww Johnny. Is the light too bright for you? So sorry!" There wasn't a hint of true apology in the man's giggling tone. Moriarty grabbed the chair placed in front of John and moved it closer, so close that when he plopped down into it their knees were touching.

John squinted against the light, making sure he tried keeping an eye on the psycho at all times… even if it hurt like hell. Moriarty leaned closer to John and held up a piece of paper with a picture on it.

"See this Johnny? This is the person you are going to kill!"

John's heart stopped as he looked at the paper in front of him. A picture of a young girl no more than 8 or 9 greeted his strained vision. She was sitting on a swing looking in the other direction of the camera with a bright smile on her face. The picture was taken behind some blurred leaves. A time stamp of two days ago rested at the bottom right of the picture.

"I had other plans for this little girl John. I was offered a large amount of money to kidnap her." Moriarty turned the picture back toward himself to look at the girl again. "Her father wanted to scare his soon to be ex-wife. Lovely family don't you think? My kind of people."

Moriarty paused a moment to stare at the photo, leaving John to examine his expression to try and figure him out.

"Well John… What do you think? She seems to be just the perfect amount of innocence and disaster huh?"

This time John couldn't help himself. "You are truly insane."

"Yes… but it keeps the creative juices flowing Doctor." Moriarty leaned back and slid the little girl's picture in his inside jacket pocket.

"If you kill her you won't get your money."

Moriarty laughed and the sound sent cold chills of anxiety up John's spine.

"Oh he didn't even have half of what he promised me. So I'll punish him for lying in the process! Everyone wins!"

John shook his head sadly. "Why…"

"Because it's fun, John. It's LOADS of fun! That is the only reason." Moriarty patted his jacket at the spot the picture was and stood up.

"And what about me? Is framing me for an innocent girl's death fun?" John would never understand the reasoning behind madness. It wasn't in his nature to think outside the box like Sherlock… Like Moriarty. To him it was straight forward. Hurting others was WRONG. The emotions he had tried to cover earlier were coming through in his tired expression.

Jim put his hands on the back of the chair he was just sitting in and leaned down a bit towards John. "It will be… right now it's all about revenge with you Dr. Watson. You killed my favorite toy."

"You are sick." John blurted out.

"And you are pathetic!"

John winced slightly and anger welled in his being at his sign of weakness again. He wasn't doing a very good job of hiding anything. "Maybe… but at least I can live with myself."

The crazy man above him 'hmm'd' and looked sideways out of his eyes. "Not for long."

Moriarty grinned evilly and reached back into his jacket pocket, pulling out the picture again. He placed it on the chair facing John, the little girl's angelic face looking up at John, before walking back to the door.

"I think I'll leave the light on this time… how's that?"

Moriarty left the room, locking the door behind him and leaving John to stare at the image of an innocent little girl about to be a part of this sick and twisted game.

* * *

Lestrade walked ahead briskly through the open office toward his own. Sherlock followed behind, hands in his pockets and facing forward, ignoring the glancing eyes and whispers. It was very early in the morning and there weren't a lot of people at their desks. But the ones that were there working the graveyard shift couldn't help but stare with their jaws on the floor as Sherlock breezed by like nothing had happened at all.

They were just across the way from his office when Lestrade pulled up and stopped fast to avoid a collision with someone coming around the corner.

Anderson looked up startled from the folder he was just immersed in, avoiding a run in with his boss. His mind had been elsewhere and he was admittedly still half asleep.

"Sorry boss…" The darker haired man mumbled in apology.

"No problem Anderson."

As the man looked back down at his file and continued to walk, another figure ended up in his way.

"Sorry", he mumbled again as he glanced up and back down at his file quickly. It didn't take more than a second for Anderson to lift his eyes back up again as his brain caught up with his senses.

Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly but made no attempt to step out of the other man's way. Anderson stopped completely in front of him… flabbergasted. He slowly closed the file in his hands and glanced over to his boss briefly for some sort of approval that what he was seeing was real.

Lestrade played it cool as he always did.

"You get called in?"

"Uh... yea..." The black haired man replied as he looked back at Sherlock. They stood only 3 feet from each other. The moment was very awkward.

"Another murder?"

"Not sure yet. Someone found a body by the docks." Anderson showed respect to his boss by turning to look him in the eye and answer but as soon as he finished his sentence he went back to looking at Sherlock with uneasy eyes.

Anderson couldn't help but stare and Sherlock stared right back before taking a deep breath and exhaling exasperatedly. He didn't have time for the whole "You're not dead" scenario. Lestrade picked up on it easily. No one needed this right now.

"Well excuse us Anderson. We have a pressing matter to get back to."

Anderson looked back at Lestrade and nodded. "Of course..." Then he stepped to the side and Sherlock's eyes followed his for a moment before turning forward again and moving to follow Lestrade into his office. The Detective inspector couldn't help but look back out into the bullpen to see if Anderson got his bearings back again. The man stood now... looking into space. He was probably wondering if he ever got out of bed tonight and if he was really standing there.

Sherlock plopped down behind Lestrade's desk and swiftly started scanning the video footage that was already left up on the desktop. He pushed the video forward with the mouse as his eyes scanned over critically.

"Are you alright?" The question was out of the blue as the Detective inspector shut the door to his office and drew the blinds to keep out the stares.

"Why would you think I am otherwise?" Sherlock's eyes never left the screen which made what Lestrade wanted to say much easier. He'd been thinking about starting this conversation the whole way over from the crime scene and after witnessing Sherlock falter at the car he couldn't hold his tongue any longer.

"Oh I dunno… maybe because you aren't acting yourself?"

Sherlock huffed as he continued scanning. "Did I not solve that case for you earlier? I would say that's acting within my parameters."

Lestrade sighed. For a smart man he was really dense. "That's not what I mean."

Sherlock flicked his eyes up briefly at the Detective Inspector. "Then say what you mean."

Lestrade plopped himself down in the chair on the other side of the desk. "Well… you lost your cool at the crime scene. It was out of character for you. You even made Sally jump from your attitude."

"Frustration is within my character."

"Yes but that was more than that… you are anxious. And then that spell you had at the car…" Sherlock didn't answer but Lestrade saw his shoulders tense slightly. He was going to leave it at that but he had something else to add. "People do care about you… just thought you should know that."

Sherlock paused a moment before flicking his eyes back up to Lestrade and then back down to the screen.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I think I know why you feel out of sorts. And I know YOU know."

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and Lestrade again noticed how out of character it was for the dark haired man to show weakness or emotion willingly.

"How would you react if someone were willing to sacrifice themselves for your safety?"

Lestrade paused and bit his lip while thinking over his response. He hadn't actually thought he'd get this far in the conversation. The Detective Inspector figured it would be completely one sided. Another thing completely out of character for Sherlock Holmes. "Sherlock I'm a police officer… it's a brotherhood. We would do that for each other every day."

"OK. People do it for you. Not me. I am not a likeable person. People do not jump in front of bullets for me."

Lestrade frowned but he didn't know what to say. How can you tell someone who didn't connect with people purposely for fear of rejection or being hurt that people DO care? How was he to explain that to someone who tries to hide from everything human by throwing himself into his work to the point of exhaustion and starvation?

"People don't do that." Sherlock muttered to fill the awkward silence from Lestrade's deep thinking.

"Obviously they do." It's the only argument he had.

"I didn't ask him to grab Moriarty with his bomb jacket on to give me a chance at escape."

Lestrade had heard a run through of what happened from John and this part of the story stopped the doctor long enough for the Detective Inspector to develop a curiosity. The fact that John planned to give his life to save his friend had shocked the Ex-Army doctor to the core as well. But it wasn't about WHY he did it. Lestrade knew John understood why he would jump in to save another. It was because at that moment John realized that they WERE friends and that they needed each other to balance things out.

"You didn't have to. You're his friend."

Sherlock blinked hard. "I don't have friends."

"Well... now you do. And he's a pretty damn good one."

"I know." Lestrade watched Sherlock's hand on the mouse stop completely as his own words echoed through his head. Finally he shook himself off mentally. He had to figure this out. He had to find his friend before it was too late.

Now JOHN needed HIM.

And he would not let him down.

"Enough. I need to concentrate."

* * *

About 15 minutes went by and the two men sat in silence as Sherlock scanned the street cams on John's route home. He knew he'd find something… It was just a matter of when. He couldn't help but let his mind wonder back to John. It was his fault once again that John was in trouble. Why would anyone want to be friends with him if all he does is get them kidnapped or nearly killed? It made no sense to him. But John never left… he stayed with him in that less than stellar part of town in their extremely outdated apartment. He put up with odd behaviors, body parts in the fridge, late nights and dangerous situations.

And John Watson was still willing to risk his life to save him.

Sherlock's mind went back to a conversation he'd had with John about Heroes. He'd told him heroes didn't exist. He was adamant about it. But was he wrong? Hadn't he witnessed with his own eyes the definition of a hero?

Sherlock shook of his thoughts and worked on concentrating hard on the video in front of him. He was around about the time he estimated the kidnapping took place. He just had to find the right area.

And then… there it was.

"There... right there."

Sherlock was on his feet quicker than Lestrade thought he had in him and walked with long strides to the door.

Lestrade jumped up from his comfortable position in the other chair and leaned into the Computer monitor. "Where?" He asked, squinting at the monitor.

"What do you mean 'where'? It's as plain as day! It's so obvious now!" Sherlock opened the blinded door and peered out into the office space. "I have to call Mycroft. I'll be right back."

Sherlock made strong steps forward with purpose in the direction of the person he had been looking for, leaving Lestrade behind trying to see what he'd caught just off screen. It was Lestrade's own fault for closing the blinds. Now he should have just enough time.

Lestrade looked back down at the monitor and tried to see what Sherlock saw. Finally he grabbed the mouse and ran the feed back a smidge, then moved it forward slowly. It took him a couple minutes but there it was... and it was so small he wasn't sure how the other man saw it while moving through so quickly. A small shadow from the street lamp, first one man's shadow... then two... then a blur of shadow's... then nothing.

"He DID make a mistake! Hey... Sherlock!"

* * *

"Anderson..."

The poor man jumped in his boots at the voice calling his name. He spun around in his chair with big eyes as Sherlock Holmes approached his desk with purpose.

"Are you leaving?"

"Uhh..."

"Oh get over it already! Clearly I am standing here breathing. So we are moving on. When are you going to your crime scene?"

"I was just about to leave." The other man said with more strength in his voice now. He gathered up his file and stood up from his desk.

"I'm going with you..."

"You want to go with me?" Anderson held up the folder he was carrying. "To this?"

"No... I need transportation. You can drop me off. Now... you first." Sherlock signaled for the other man to continue on down the hallway with a wave of his arm.

"I... ok...?"

And with that Anderson moved at a swift pace to keep in front of a fast walking Sherlock toward the parking lot. The two men were already in the car before Lestrade could search the whole bullpen for Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

AN - Again i'm so sorry for taking so long. I have another chapter coming.. obviously... and possibly an epilogue. Hope you enjoyed reading! i've been nit picking at it for a while even though nothing major happens in it. lol


	10. Chapter 10

Oh My Gosh! I know! can you believe it?

First off... Happy New year everyone. Also Happy Sherlock Returns day. I was trying like heck this week to finish this. I wanted to have it done and up before the new series started but i've been sick since monday (Its my week off so of COURSE i was sick the wholllle timmmme!)

I'm sorry it took me so long. Honestly there were lot of parts i wasn't happy with and.. honestly.. still parts i wasn't sure if i should have left as is. And also it looks like theres one more chapter. Not gonna call it an epilogue .. but... sorta. But here it is folks. So sorry it took me so long. I hope you enjoy! and hopefully i can get the last Chapter done this week!

* * *

Sherlock didn't bother with his cell phone now.

He didn't talk or blink and some would have claimed he wasn't even breathing. He sat in the car next to Anderson, staring out of the front window and going through a few different scenarios in his mind. There was a strong feeling in the pit of his stomach that he'd only had a few times before. Butterflies... as they say. Nerves. The feeling didn't please him at all. Even in sticky situations he'd stayed as cool as a cucumber. For some reason this situation was different. He was still working it all out in his head as to why.

Anderson sat behind the wheel, chewing on his bottom lip from the bit of anxiety at having Sherlock in such close proximity and still looking very corpse-like. In his line of work he'd seen a lot of dead bodies. More than he'd ever wanted to see in his lifetime. But never before had they come back to life. This was all too much to comprehend at such an ungodly early hour in the morning. It also didn't help that Sherlock had stopped talking and all around moving after he gave his first set of directions. He would fully admit that Sherlock weirded him out. Always had… Always will. Dead or undead.

"Why would you want my help?" Anderson didn't look over at Sherlock. He kept watching the road like it was the most interesting thing in the world. It was almost like he didn't want to look and see an empty seat. It would solidify that he truly was losing his mind… or quite possibly… still in bed sleeping.

"Because you don't like me." Sherlock's response caused Anderson to at least glance in his direction with wide eyes. He forgot how blunt Sherlock Holmes could be.

"Well…" He squinted his eyes and made a slight wince at the comment. He felt the need to argue that statement but there wasn't much TO argue. It was true.

"No sense in denying the truth Anderson. I don't care if you like me or not. The bottom line is you won't give me an argument when I tell you to leave me somewhere. I need Lestrade, but at the right moment. He will force his presences. I don't have time to deal with that. Turn left here."

Anderson took the directive, turning the car down another dark and desolate side street. "I have no idea what you are talking about or what's going on."

"And you don't need to." Sherlock's tone was final on the subject.

"Great." Anderson rolled his eyes. It was the first normal action for him since the bullpen. "Ok… so I guess I drop you off, wait a bit and then call him?"

"Yes. Down there." Sherlock pointed down a dark road and the car soon went in that direction.

"I better not get in trouble for this." Anderson's tone was more of a complaint then a threat. Sherlock finally turned his head in the man's direction and give him a bored look as if to say 'I could care less if you do.' Anderson shook his head. "And you trust I can handle this? After all those smart remarks thrown my way?"

Sherlock had no interest in rehashing their dislike for each other. Especially not when he was trying to keep his mind focused on the task at hand.

"A five year old could handle it."

Anderson actually chuckled. "Thanks… I guess. Looks like I graduated up from infant."

"Possibly." Sherlock's tone was still very monotone but there was something in the way he shifted slightly in the passenger seat that made Anderson think the man had been slightly amused with the comment.

Sherlock directed him the rest of the way until they pulled up to a dark, destroyed building. Police tape fluttered in the slight breeze of the very early morning air. No lights glowed from inside. No cars were parked around the decimated building. It was like a scene out of a cheap horror film minus the terrible music.

"You sure this is where you need to go? This is where…" Anderson couldn't continue his sentence for some reason as he looked over the carnage. He'd stopped the car at about the same spot he'd last stood. Sherlock didn't need him to continue his sentence. The outside of the building gave him no emotion at all. He didn't remember much of it anyways. It was what was inside that gave him another flutter in his gut.

"This is it. It's the only obvious place within quick driving distance from where John was taken. No one would think to look here after what happened."

Anderson's head whipped around, a surprised expression on his face. He knew the absence of John Watson was quite odd but he'd been so caught up with Sherlock being alive that he'd dismissed it. "So that guy kidnapped John. The one that… almost killed you?"

Sherlock nodded slightly but Anderson still caught it in the dark car. He hadn't planned on giving Anderson any details. The words just sort of slipped out. That was not normal for him not to think through his choice of words before saying them. It was a clear sign that he was severely distracted. He would deny that it had anything to do with his worry for John… but it would be a lie. It was important that he stop the useless thoughts in his head or it would get him killed for real.

The two sat in silence. Sherlock did not provide any more information and Anderson was pretty sure he wasn't going to. He wasn't surprised. What did confuse him was that Sherlock had not moved from the car yet. He was caught up in his own mind. Anderson was sure that mind would be one scary place to get lost in.

"I thought criminals didn't like to return to the scene of the crime."

Sherlock inhaled deeply and exhaled loudly through his nose. "He is no ordinary criminal."

"Quite… If he got the drop on you he must be some sort of mastermind eh?" Anderson's tone was full of sarcasm and Sherlock looked at him from the corner of his eye.

"Clearly." His reply was serious but again Anderson saw that tenseness in his form melt a bit. They may not have liked each other and under normal circumstances they'd never be in the same car together or in each other's presence for this long but somehow he felt he may have been helping the tension. Even if just a small bit.

"Well. Good luck then." The man at the wheel blurted out, hoping to bring about some sort of next step and a close to this awkwardness.

"Luck." Sherlock mumbled. "No such thing."

"Right…"

Sherlock opened the door and pulled himself from the car without another word. Anderson watched as he walked confidently into the chard; open front doors of the building before putting the car in drive.

* * *

Mycroft closed and locked the big oak door behind him. He hung his key on the hook by the garage door and laid his jacket neatly on the back of a kitchen chair. Work had not been pleasant today and the last thing he wanted to deal with was another problem he had to solve. Normally he had a driver to bring him to and from work. He was a very busy man and it was extremely helpful when he needed to update himself on meetings and the goings-on in the morning. And he couldn't deny it was a great place to nap on the way back home. But with the current situation with Sherlock and the fact that he sent away his hired helpers for the time being, he'd just have to deal with it all. He was exhausted and could only think of one thing. His bed.

Unfortunately it would still be a while before he saw his pillow.

Mycroft made his way down the quiet hallways to the spare room his brother was using. He'd called Sherlock a couple hours ago just to check in and his brother didn't answer. Mycroft figured at the time that Sherlock had just turned in early from boredom or was quite possibly ignoring him. He should have known better than to think it were that simple. It never is.

The older Holmes crept into the dark bedroom and turned on the light.

What greeted him was a fresh nicely made bed that no one had slept in yet this evening.

"Of course." Mycroft mumbled. He wasn't surprised. He should have never left his brother to his own devices. After all that effort to keep him "dead"… God only knew what he was up to at this hour of the night. He didn't even bother checking the other rooms of the house. He just knew he wasn't going to find him anywhere on the grounds. Even as exhausted as he was he couldn't stifle the brotherly intuition. His younger sibling was off somewhere getting into trouble.

But he didn't have a chance to get mad or even turn the bedroom light back off. His pocket began to ring. It was a clear sign that he would be even LESS happy as the night went on. Mycroft pulled the cell from his pocket and wasn't surprised at seeing the name on the display.

"Lestrade?"

"Hello Mycroft. I hope I didn't wake you." The Detective Inspector's voice sounded tired and strained. Another indication that this wasn't going to go smoothly.

Mycroft closed his eyes and shook his head taking in a deep breath. "Not at all… There is no rest for the wicked."

"Quite so." Lestrade paused, gathering up his courage to ask Mycroft Holmes this next question. "Sherlock didn't happen to call you a few minutes ago did he?"

The older Holmes turned and plopped himself onto the neat covers of Sherlock's bed. He pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to staunch the throb of the massive headache developing. "My brother does not call me. Have you not learned that already?"

"I figured as much. He said he was going to call you. I suppose I was too distracted to think of how ludicrous that actually sounded." Lestrade's frustrated tone came through loud and clear.

"Is my brother with you Detective Inspector?" Mycroft knew the answer before he even asked the question. But if this conversation was going to go any further he'd have to push it along. He pulled his tired body from the comforts of the bed and headed in the direction of his jacket that he left in the kitchen. He was already under the impression he wouldn't be home for much longer.

"He WAS with me." Lestrade stopped, pausing a moment before continuing on. "John has gone missing so he came out of hiding."

"Wonderful." Mycroft's sarcastic tone was unmistakable. "I knew this would happen. So I assume if he skipped out on you that means he's found something. And in his unique moronic fashion he is going to try to rescue Dr. Watson on his own, not even considering that this is all a trap."

"Sounds about right. Though Sherlock believes it's not a trap but revenge."

Mycroft now resorted to pressing a fist into the soft tissue above his eye, feeling the pressure building. When he started seeing a kaleidoscope, he withdrew. Still not helping. "Do you have any idea as to where he may have gone?"

"Currently no. But your car is still in the parking lot here at the Yard so he got a ride from someone."

Mycroft closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his hands before he walked back over to the garage door off of the kitchen to peer into the 4-car garage. There at the end was a large vacant spot. He was so tired he didn't even notice its absence. "Fabulous."

"I assume he may be with one of my officers. I'm about to work on locating everyone on shift to see if he is. They may have been persuaded to give him a lift."

Mycroft picked up his jacket and his keys once more. "I am on my way."

"Hopefully he will contact us to let us know where he is." The poor Detective Inspector sounded apologetic for having to pull him back out into the fray.

"I wouldn't hold my breath on that Lestrade… though I was hoping that my little brother would have smartened up after the last time he went off on his own."

Lestrade nodded wordlessly just before his phone buzzed with a second call.

"I will see you soon Mycroft."

The man on the other end hung up and Lestrade flipped over to the other call.

"Lestrade."

"Hey Boss… It's Anderson."

Lestrade rolled his eyes and started searching the desk for his keys. He left his work car at the other crime scene to go off with Sherlock. Now he'd have to use his personal car. "Is it important Anderson? I am in the middle of a manhunt." Lestrade sighed as he sifted through some stuff on his desk. He had no time to waste.

"I believe it may help in your hunt."

That made Lestrade stop everything. Knowing instantly what the other man meant. "You're kidding… He got a ride with you?"

"I was still in such shock I'd have GIVEN him the keys."

The Detective Inspectors mouth was still open. He wanted to say 'But with YOU?' but he held his tongue.

"Yea sorry about that. No time to explain. Where are you?"

"I'm not with him any longer. He asked me to drop him off. He said he needed you but not just yet. I guess whatever he's there to do he needs time to do it before you show up."

Lestrade finally found the set of keys he was looking for under a couple of files and began heading towards the door. "Where'd you drop him off Anderson?"

"The Pool Hall."

* * *

John Watson's head lulled forward, twitching every once in a while in an effort to bring himself around. He'd been close to passing out from exhaustion for several minutes now but he was trying desperately not to. His body was fighting him though. He'd been up early for work, had a long day and then he was exposed to a sedative which clearly wasn't gone from his system. There were way too many things against him. Even the worry he had for the little girl in the picture didn't keep his adrenaline going enough to keep his eyelids from drooping. He just couldn't help it.

He tried thinking of Sherlock and how much he hoped his friend was on his way right now with the cavalry. He pictured in his head Sherlock busting through the doors in front of him with that sly Cheshire cat grin on his face, hands in his coat pockets, Lestrade behind him with his gun drawn. The guards passed out on the floor behind them.

Wait… guards? Had he seen a guard at all?

That question had him completely baffled. He couldn't honestly say if he saw a guard tonight. He'd only seen Moriarty. It was just enough to keep shaking himself back into consciousness to ponder on. Moriarty wouldn't have done all this by himself would he? He wasn't the type to get his hands dirty in the literal sense.

Suddenly the door did burst open. A cloud of dirt, dust and grime sifted under the door as it slammed into the cracked tile wall. John's eyes snapped open and sharp pains went up his arms into his back, neck and shoulders as he sat up straight in the chair on alert.

Moriarty stood in the doorway, his eyes were sharp daggers. His normally well-groomed hair now stuck up on parts of his head like he had been pulling at it in frustration. The man was breathing heavily and his teeth were clenched in anger.

And he gripped a knife tightly in his right hand.

"HOW DID YOU DO IT?

John blinked up at the enraged man in front of him. "Wha…"

"DON'T play stupid with me! HOW did you do it! I KNOW it was you!"

"Do WHAT!" John's voice spiked. He was so sick of these stupid games. His calm exterior was fading fast.

"The girl! That… that FAMILY!" The word "family" was laced in a hateful tone. "You tipped them off somehow!"

Moriarty stormed forward and pushed hard on John's shoulder, sending him and the chair he was tied to backwards to the dirty tile floor.

John gasped out in pain as his arms and hands were crushed under his own weight and pinned by the chair. Stars buzzed behind his shut eyelids from the unforgivable impact his head made. There was now one more cracked tile on the floor.

He forced his eyes open, finding Moriarty standing above him, one leg on each side of his head. The knife was now hovering uncomfortably close.

"Look what you made me do. You made me lose my temper!"

John was breathing hard from the pain. He couldn't even form words. All he could do was squint above, watching Moriarty's angry contorted face and try to control his breathing. He blinked rapidly to get rid of clouds in his eyes. His painful headache increased. A few moments ago he wouldn't have been sure that were even possible.

"Well you are no good to yell at if you can't even focus on me!"

John felt himself being hoisted back into the air. He opened his eyes wide enough to see Jim Moriarty's hands on the back of the chair, pulling it back into an upright position. His arms still burned but he was grateful to be off of them. A couple of fingers burned as he tried to flex and straighten them. Broken… Just wonderful. He was absolutely no help to himself tied up but he couldn't even verbally fight back with that blinding pain. Moriarty had yet to lay a finger on him to draw pain this whole time… until now. The line had now been crossed.

Once he was upright, John tried to focus on the situation. He noticed right away that he had been completely turned around. He was now facing what he believed to be the back wall. There was no door to his left or right. Moriarty paced the spot in front of him, placing the tip of the sharp blade slightly between his closed lips.

"You are talking to him aren't you?"

"Who…" John groaned out, still trying to shake the clouds away.

"Sherlock! It's the only explanation! I already took care of the moron that helped me kidnap you. Unless he told his new fish friends in the Thames…"

John remained quiet as he studied the wild features on Jim Moriarty's face. He didn't feel one ounce of sympathy for the man that helped kidnap him. He KNEW Moriarty wouldn't have done it alone. But what was with this Sherlock business? Did he know he was alive after all? No… there was no way. None at all. And until he knew for sure he'd still have to go about things like he'd been. "How can I talk to a dead man?" He laced his response with as much confusion he could muster. He needed to still play along. Moriarty was just the right amount of crazy. Anything was possible.

Moriarty stopped pacing and turned toward John. "You are right Johnny." An evil smile formed on his lips, the knife now rested on his teeth like a toothpick as he twisted it slowly around. His eyes were glowing as he started walking slowly in John's direction. He pulled the knife from his teeth and held it in his right hand as he leaned in to whisper in John's ear. "Would you like me to show you how to talk to the dead?"

Moriarty pulled back enough to grin in John's face as his right arm whipped forward.

John's eyes widened and a gasp escaped him as he felt the knife slice into his side. He took a large intake of air as the burning reached his sense.

"I wasn't planning on killing you just yet John. But since you seem so keen on talking to your dead friend… well I feel obligated to help you along. Maybe he will punish you for eternity in the afterlife for failing him."

John's eyes were still wide as saucers as he watched Jim Moriarty stand up straight again and exam the now red blade in his hand with more curiosity then was comfortable. He couldn't believe this was happening. A wet sensation coated his hip as his blood almost instantly began to run from the horizontal slash in his side. He couldn't tell how deep it was and he was afraid to move now. He could make the bleeding worse just trying to look at it. All he could do was look at the knife in Moriarty's hand in shock… covered in his own blood.

"I've given you a way to talk to Sherlock again John. You can tell him how you failed to save his life because you just didn't TRY! You can tell him how useless you were and that his life slipped away because of YOU!"

John looked up into those wild eyes. The burn was starting to intensify and he could have sworn he started hearing small drip sounds in his pounding ears. Great… if it was bad enough to already be dripping on the floor then he was in serious trouble.

The Ex-army doctor gritted his teeth at the pain as he shut his eyes. He was never one to beg. But right now he really really wished Sherlock would come through those doors like he'd imagined before. He'd do anything right about now for a little luck.

'Sherlock… where are you?' he wondered silently.

He had no idea just how close they actually were.

* * *

The tall dark-haired man watched with keen eyes as the headlights of Anderson's work car disappeared back down the dimly lit street.

He was now alone.

Sherlock looked up at the frame that was once a pool hall. The roof was gone... the right side where the bomb went off was missing. You could see right into the blackness.

A few memories of what happened that night flashed to the forefront of his mind. Seeing John in the bomb vest... holding a gun to Moriarty... Pulling John's unconscious form from the pool.

Sherlock shut his eyes for a few seconds to try and cut out the visions flooding in. He needed to focus. He was never one to dwell on the past and the last thing he needed to do at this critical hour was to change course.

Stealth wasn't needed...the darkness before the dawn did it for him as he walked straight through the halls that use to be the doors to the building. He knew they were here. It was the most obvious place. He took John to punish him. He knew that for sure. And bringing him back to the place where it all happened would be a hit of Psychological Pain. Besides which, who would think he'd go back to the "Scene of the crime" in a crumpled down building.

And of course… its what he would have done.

It was nice to have the confident feeling back as he walked quietly through the dark hallways. The only light that helped him were the red emergency exit lights that still glowed dimly. A generator must have been installed encase of an incident. It still had just enough juice to help him from walking face first into a wall.

Sherlock rounded a rubble-laden corner and stopped in his tracks. The room was dark and dusty but he recognized it right away. The large pool that saved their lives was now filled with bits of ceiling. He took a couple of slow steps in to take in the destruction. How anyone could have survived that blast he had no idea. Piercing blue eyes looked up, taking in the still starlit sky. It wouldn't be long until the haze of early morning light would start to take over to start the day.

Sherlock spun around on his heels and walked out of destroyed room. He was done with it. That part was over. He continued down the dark hallways in search of John. He was all that currently mattered.

Sherlock rounded another corner and stopped, listening carefully around him for any sounds he was being followed or that may tip him off to John's location.

And there it was… a voice! Hollow and impossible to make out but it was a voice! He took a few steps more down the dark hallway. The voice got louder and louder as he walked. It was helping guide him right to them. There were two voices now. Moriarty. The other voice... John's.

He couldn't help but feel relief as he heard his friend bite back at the criminal. It wouldn't be John if he didn't try and fight back. Sherlock followed it right to a rickety but lucky old door that made it through the bomb blast almost completely intact.

He stood in front of the door and scanned around. The building was almost in shambles so some holes in the walls and doors were not something out of the ordinary. And thankfully there was one just big enough to peek through and not draw attention to himself. On the other side of this door was another one down a hallway… and a light glowed from underneath.

He'd found them.

Everything was going according to his plan... All he had to worry about was if Anderson would be reliable and call Lestrade on time as planned. His hand reached for the doorknob.

A surge of adrenaline filtered through his body screaming for him to move his legs in the direction of the voice. But his brain left him glued and stone-like in one spot.

This was too easy.

Moriarty may not know he's alive… but he's not stupid. He'd have some sort of back up just like that night.

Oh this was way too easy.

He was expecting to run into someone. Moriarty did not get is hands dirty. But he expected there to be at least two guards.

There must have been. Sherlock was hardly ever wrong.

And this time was no different.

Sherlock was nowhere near his normal self. His muscles were still weak and his reaction time was way off but he ducked just in time as one of Moriarty's goons swung his fist hard at Sherlock's head. The momentum behind the punch had the larger man stumbling forward and catching Sherlock with his shoulder instead. It sent them both crashing into the wall a couple of feet behind them. The smell of dirt and grime on the tile walls filled his nose as the side of his face mashed up against it. It disorientated him enough to give the other man time to find his bearings and grab Sherlock by the back of the neck.

Sherlock bounced back fast though and before the goon could get a good hold, the dark haired man lifted his left leg and kicked back hard. The man behind him didn't yell out but a loud grunt of pain filled his ears. Sherlock turned just in time to see the man down to the ground on one knee before he was shoved across the hallway.

Sherlock stumbled backward and landed unceremoniously into a pile of rubble. The sharp edges dug into his lower back and knocked the wind out of him long enough for the man to regain his composure and land a swift punch to the side of his head. Sherlock sent a leg forward, clipping the man in the same knee and snapping it backward. The man let out a cry of pain this time as he landed hard to the ground.

Slightly dazed, Sherlock shook his head a bit and blinked hard as he got to his feet. The goon was not getting up quickly this time. But he growled at the Consulting Detective from his kneeling position.

"I'm afraid you were at a bit of a disadvantage. You see… It is true what they say." Sherlock lifted his right hand, revealing a good sized rock he'd nabbed while pulling himself out of the rubble. "The bigger they are…" Sherlock swung his arm with the perfect timing and precision, smacking the larger man hard in the side of the head and knock him out instantly.

"The harder they fall."

* * *

Moriarty leaned in sickeningly close again. His voice was just a whisper and John tensed up, worried that the madman holding him captive would slice into his body again. He hated showing such weakness in front of this psycho but his body just couldn't help it.

"There is no one coming to save you, John"

John leaned to the side as best he could to avoid the hot breath hitting him in the face. He regretted it instantly as the movement caused him to openly hiss. "How do you know?"

"Because there's no ransom. There's no alert you're gone. Your dear Mrs. Hudson is out of town and will not miss you." He growled and twisted the bloody knife around in his hands. "And there is no curly haired genius to figure it all out for them."

John stayed silent but kept an eye on that knife. The pain from the gash in his side was now spreading all over his body. He could feel the cut stretch as he breathed in and out. The reality was this… all Moriarty had to do was leave John here, tied to this chair locked in this dark room, to just bleed to death slowly. But John was pretty sure that wasn't his plan. If he even HAD a plan.

Moriarty picked up quickly at the pain evident on the Ex-Army doctor's face. "It's all your fault John." The knife dipped out of sight. And John shut his eyes trying to prepare for what came next. "You deserve the pain."

John waited for another burning slash to cut him open again… but nothing happened. John risked opening his eyes back up again to see Moriarty's big toothy grin greeting him. He'd known John was expecting it and his sick and twisted mind enjoyed the unease and fright oozing from the Ex-Army doctor. He was certainly enjoying the power over someone like John Watson.

"Did you tell his brother it was your fault?"

John stared at him with a glare. Was he really going to go there? This guy would stop at nothing! "Don't blame me because your game backfired. Do you think I wanted to lose a friend? Don't you think that I tried my damndest to make sure that didn't happen?"

"I thought you would have John! But if you had you would have accomplished what you set out to do. You always do." Moriarty was now walking slow circles around John's chair, staring at him with a hatred and fury that could have melted metal.

"Well I guess this time around you misjudged me." John shook his head slightly and looked down at the floor. He knew he shouldn't have said anything but his mouth got away from him. Now he was just egging him on. That wouldn't help gain him any time for Sherlock to get there and save the day.

"I'm going to be honest with you John. I've been completely baffled for days now. I don't see how I could have messed this up. I don't mess up. You should have easily woken him up." The knife dangled now by Jim's right leg loosely. If John were at all able and NOT tied to a chair this would have been his perfect opportunity to engage and tackle Moriarty. Damn ropes.

"So how would I have woken him up?" John asked, trying to work back into a conversation to distract the crazy person in front of him from thinking. The last thing John Watson needed was Jim Moriarty thinking!

"Now now I can't give you the answers to the question now. It was something you should have figured out already."

"Fine whatever."

"It was an important experiment and you completely ruined the results."

"Results?"

"But no worries John. I've just come up with another plan." Moriarty paused, staring over John's head before putting his hand into his inside pocket, pulling out a syringe. It was filled with a pale yellow liquid. "You ruined my experiment… So now I have to start all over."

John's eyes went wide.

"You underestimate me Moriarty." John mumbled, trying to keep him going. He needed more time! But Moriarty ignored him.

"You've disappointed me Dr. Watson. But that's ok… it doesn't matter now." Moriarty held the syringe up in front of John's face. He pulled off the top and tapped the sides to rid the tip of bubbles. "Now John… this wont hurt a bit."

"Wait… wait!" John tried to back up farther into the chair even though rationally he knew he couldn't move. Moriarty looked like he didn't even hear him, but he stopped anyways and took on an expression of deep thought. He stared hard at the syringe in his hand.

"I had immense faith that you'd figure it out but all you've done is ruin everything! I had plans! GREAT plans for Sherlock Holmes! It would have had him wriggling on my hook and now it's done!" Jim Moriarty's voice was full of anger and he started swinging the needle around as he talked. "You had 24 hours John! 24 hours and you couldn't figure out how to reverse a simple concoction?" The syringe was now pointing directly in John's face. "I gave you all the answers you needed! Did you even try? Perhaps I've been too sure of your connection. Maybe you wanted him dead after all. Is that it John? Have you completely baffled me? It would be the first time for sure. Or have you just lost your nerve…"

"No…"

Moriarty stopped and looked over John's head at the sudden voice. His eyes widened and John could have sworn he saw a twinkle.

"John just got bored with you…."

And then an ear-piercing bang went off behind him, sending Jim Moriarty reeling back and landing with a grunt on his rear end. The Syringe scattered on the floor behind him. Red liquid started to gush from his left shoulder.

Moriarty looked down in shock at his ruined suit before smiling widely as he looked up at Sherlock Holmes standing in the doorway. "You missed…"

"Obviously I didn't… John?"

"Fine…" Sherlock scooped up the bloody knife that landed near John's feet and took care of the rope with one fluid movement. He took a good look at the red drips on the floor and John's side.

"No. Not fine."

John's breaths were coming out roughly now with the combination of lowering adrenaline and pain. But his eyes closed in relief. "I will be now." He felt a surprisingly light and soothing hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes to see Sherlock leaning down to examine John's bleeding side. Sherlock's expression looked lethal.

"Well… you've tricked me. Congratulations. John… I stand correct. You've turned in an Oscar worthy performance." Moriarty smiled as he clutched his bleeding shoulder. The sight of that evil grin coupled with his oozing blood made him look certifiable.

"Why are you still talking to him?" Sherlock stood up straight and raised the gun to aim at the man's head as John still fumbled with the ropes, trying to get his half numb arms to cooperate again.

"Sherlock… don't…" John warned as he placed a hand over the bleeding wound on his side.

"Don't worry… he wont do it John! He's too intrigued with me!" Moriarty was trying to get to his feet but settled for at least being on his knees.

Sherlock hadn't taken the gun off of Jim Moriarty yet. "You kidnapped my friend… twice… I don't take kindly to that."

"I also had the world thinking you were dead! Aren't you mad about that Sherlock? No… no that interests you down to the core doesn't it! You want to know how! You want to try it again… experiment!"

Sherlock looked down at John who drunk all of this in. His face read like a popup book. John was scared that it was true… scared that Sherlock would mess with Death again… scared how it would make him feel.

Suddenly Sherlock's lust for information shriveled like a grape in the sun. If it hurt John… then it wasn't important to continue.

"I'm not interested in the least." With the gun still trained on Moriarty, Sherlock leaned down again to help John get to his feet.

"Oh but your lying Holmes! I know you!"

"You know nothing about me."

John groaned at the pain in his side as he slowly leaned forward to get to his feet. "Sherlock don't lose your temper." He whispered through gritted teeth.

"We're the same you and I! Your light and I'm dark. There's no living without the other. You can't hide from me!"

John looked up at Sherlock, those readable eyes pleading to make the right choice to end this… to get things back to normal or as normal as they could be. He wanted to leave. He wanted to go home…

"It's ok John." he whispered. He placed a hand gently on his friends shoulder again to relax him and didn't turn his eyes away as the doors broke open behind them and Scotland Yard filled the room, guns drawn. John's eyes darted around at the sudden arrival but came back to Sherlock's gaze, wide and doe-eyed. "We've come to the end."

Lestrade came up to them as his officers ascended upon Moriarty. They could hear him struggling and yelling but refused to acknowledge him.

"Do you think you can hold me? Sherlock…. SHERLOCK! Your weak! I weakened you! I still win! HAHAAAA I still WIN!"

"Just ignore him." Lestrade growled. "John I'm glad to see you are alright."

John nodded but didn't speak. He was starting to feel the affects of the blood loss and it didn't go unnoticed.

Sherlock glanced to the Detective Inspector. "EMT's?"

"Waiting outside."

"Thank You."

Sherlock helped John get all the way to his feet and threw an arm over his shoulders, bending down slightly to accommodate his friend's shorter stature. John concentrated on holding pressure on his side and ignored the ache in his body as he limped along side.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine… thanks… just a scratch. Not too deep." John's week limbs didn't agree with him and he stumbled over the dirty floor. If it weren't for Sherlock he'd be having a bonding moment with the pavement.

"You are lying. And I'd feel more comfortable once its been cleaned and the knife analyzed."

"Well if you knew I was lying why did you ask? You sound like me now… He didn't coat it Sherlock."

"John." Sherlock started to argue but for once he was completely shut down by John's tone.

"No… I know. It's Moriarty. But he was so enraged with sadness and hate at losing his favorite game piece that he didn't think of clever ways to torture. He just used what was easier. He wasn't in his right frame of mind… his eye's… they were wild. They didn't return to the cold and calculating ones till you walked in."

Sherlock was silent for a brief moment taking in the Ex-army doctor's words. Then a sly smile graced his lips in the darkness.

"That's good observation John."

John turned his head to look at the taller man. "Impressed?"

"Yes actually."

John smiled brightly and Sherlock actually caught it as they walked under a lit red Exit sign. "Well and also… he had it in his mouth."

"Hmmm. Maybe we should start giving you rabies shots then."

They both laughed lightly as they continued walking from the building.

Just before they reached the doors, John slowed down his weak legs, bringing them to a complete stop. Sherlock didn't push figuring John just needed a quick break. They both stood in the dark hallway looking out at the flashing lights from the police cars waiting outside.

"Sherlock?"

"Mmm…"

"I'm glad you're on my side."

Sherlock smiled in the dark pool hall at his own words from just last week.

"Likewise"

John nodded and put a tired foot forward, starting their efforts back up again. "So… How did you find me?"

"I guessed."

"Oh…."

Sherlock smirked as they stepped out into the night. The sudden brightness of the flashing lights from the emergency vehicles parked out front had them both blinking to adjust from the darkness. John shook his head with a small laugh on his lips.

"Liar."

"Do I ever guess?"

"I suppose not."

"I'll let that ridiculous question go this time since your injured."

"Thanks a lot."

"Of course."

They were almost to the ambulance when some officers started heading in their direction. Sherlock noticed that Sally Donovan was among the officers on her way over. This time it was Sherlock who stopped them cold.

"Speak John."

"Wha?" John was slightly confused as to why they had stopped here. The pain in his side was worse after the walking and not to mention he was slightly winded.

"You want to say something. Say it."

He did have something to say… but he was going to just wait till they got back to the flat. He didn't think it was something he should say here. There would most certainly be an argument. But he also knew Sherlock. And he wouldn't let them continue until he spoke.

"Oh … well… You aren't going to like it."

"That's never stopped you from speaking your mind before."

"Fine. You are a Hero."

John blurted it out fast and kept looking forward as he struggled to keep his feet underneath him. He knew Sherlock wasn't going to like that word referred to him.

"John…"

"I know you don't believe in it." John interrupted. "But I find it a matter of opinion. And in my opinion you are."

"There is…"

"Before you continue on saying there are no such thing as heroes… there may not be to you. But you are mine. Your my hero Sherlock. No matter what you say."

Sherlock didn't speak for a moment. He just stared at John's serious face before exhaling deeply into the cool night air.

"I suppose I should refrain from arguing with you while you are hurt."

"Smart."

"But I would never qualify as one. I think you are losing too much blood."

"Maybe… But you saved my life. So that qualifies you in my book."

Sherlock was quiet as they made their way again toward the waiting officers. John didn't expect the conversation to continue any farther. So he was surprised at what he heard next.

"If that is a qualification then you are mine too."

John was glad that it was dark out because he felt his cheeks turn a rosy shade of red.

Sally and a few other officers cut the distance between the Consulting Detective and the Ex-army Doctor. Sherlock refused to give up his burden but Sally took Johns other arm around her shoulders and helped the rest of the way to the Ambulance and the awaiting EMT's.

They'd gone right to work on John and his wound. Sherlock stood with his arms crossed watching and waiting when a loud voice from behind stopped everyone in their tracks.

"Are you Mad? You walk out unprotected… taking one of my cars?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked at John who was sitting on the back of the ambulance.

"It was necessary."

"Quite… but you still should have alerted me! I could have helped you."

Sherlock turned around to face his brother. "Yes maybe I should have but I have my own channels."

Mycroft grumbled. But before he could say anything else, the paramedics that were checking John started packing things up. It brought Sherlock's interested completely back on John.

"Sir we are going to take you in. That cut needs some stitching." A young paramedic said while his partner climbed in the back to get things ready.

John nodded and looked up at Sherlock "You coming too?"

"No"

The answer wasn't what John was expecting. The shock of it made him unsure of what to say. "Oh… ok... well… fine…"

Sherlock shook his head a bit and walked closer to John. "I have to go collect my things from Mycroft's. I'll be back in time to hail us a cab home."

John hoped Sherlock and Mycroft did see the relived breath he let out. "Sounds like a good plan to me. Though why don't you just drive us."

"Don't be silly John. I don't have a license."

John's eyebrows fused in very brief confusion. "But… Oh…"

Sherlock Smirked. "Don't worry John. I'll be back as soon as I can. I promise. Mycroft is even coming with you."

"I'm what?" Sherlock gave his brother a look not to argue and Mycroft grumbled but complied. He knew the reasoning behind it. Sherlock didn't feel comfortable letting John go with two strangers. "Fine little brother… but you owe me."

Sherlock ignored Mycroft. He was more interested in if John was ok with having his older brother as company.

John nodded his approval and let the paramedics help him up into the ambulance and onto the gurney. The Consulting Detective watched as the doors shut and the vehicle started makings its way down the road. John was safe now and Sherlock closed his eyes briefly in relief that this current hell was over with.

"I think I prefer this ending."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he turned his head slightly to his left. Sally Donovan stood along side him, also watching the ambulance make its way down the street.

"As apposed to…"

"Oh Sherlock Holmes. Don't be dense. Just a few weeks ago we all stood in this same spot and watched them load you into a body bag." Her hand raised and she pointed to the ambulance that was now turning a corner on its way to the hospital. "That man guarded your body. We had to talk him to into letting you go."

Sherlock blew out an exasperated breath. But he didn't bite back. Not this time.

"He didn't deserve to go through that. So for that reason i'm glad you are ok. I don't know how you managed it or how you got so lucky… but that is one loyal and dedicated friend you have."

"I know." Sherlock said without hesitation.

"Believe me... I know."


End file.
